


Something

by dll10



Series: All is Well Time Travel Trilogy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 111,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dll10/pseuds/dll10
Summary: An unusual device sends Hermione back to 12 Grimmauld Place just after it's put under the Fidelius Charm.  Surrounded by people long dead, how can she help but develop feelings for the man she had always respected so highly as they work together in an effort to change the events that have shaped Hermione's life and assist Harry in defeating Voldemort?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks/George Weasley
Series: All is Well Time Travel Trilogy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134929
Comments: 178
Kudos: 407





	1. 1: Accident

Author's Note

I got the idea for this because I love time travel fics and honestly, Hermione/Remus is my favorite pairing ever. My only problem is usually the age difference. This is my solution. I've had the idea for a long time, but I'm only just getting around to it. Ideally, this will be a trilogy that covers Harry's last three years at Hogwarts, but from the Order's perspective, but I'll only write all three stories if there is enough support because I have about a dozen stories I want to write right now. This will be a slow burn story. This story is very much a wish fulfillment piece for me, though occasionally even wishes have consequences…

Also, if you aren't a fan of the Hermione/Remus pairing and know you'll hate seeing them end up together don't bother reading, or if you do anyways, please don't complain to me when they get together - that's sort of the point of this story…

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think! I never have a Beta so let me know if you find mistakes.

PS I'm not JK Rowling, so I don't own anything :(

~

Chapter 1

June 2010

Grimmauld Place

Hermione was attempting, quite unsuccessfully, to convince Lily Luna Potter to eat some mushy peas. Lily, at a little over the age of one, was far more interested in using the green paste to draw pictures on the table. If Hermione had known how difficult it would be to convince someone so small to see things her way, perhaps she would have reconsidered pursuing a career in politics.

"Come on, Lily. Open up," Hermione coaxed. Lily giggled before slapping her hand down on the abstract design she had just completed. Bits of pea went flying, smacking Hermione in the face, and making Lily giggle even more. Probably some, and likely no small amount at that, ended up in Hermione's wildly curling hair.

"Ya," Lily cried, clapping and managing to smear her pea mess even more. "Ya," she repeated, watching as Hermione rose to collect a damp cloth and wipe the bits from her face.

Since James had been born nearly seven years ago, Hermione had become Harry and Ginny's defacto babysitter. She was called on even more once Albus and Lily were born. Not that she minded. She loved Jamie, Al, and Lily immensely. Teddy too since he was around more often than not over the years. The couple tried to have least one night a week to themselves, so Hermione, or occasionally Ron, was called in to rangle the rambunctious kids. Now that Ron was expecting his first child, she'd probably start being asked to sit for him too here soon.

Tonight had been spur of the moment though. Teddy had only gotten home from his first year at Hogwarts two days ago. It was obvious he'd been looking forward to spending some quality time with his godfather, but Ginny got an unexpected assignment from work today and was supposed to leave for an extended work assignment tomorrow. Harry wanted to spend tonight with his wife since it would likely be three weeks before he saw her again, so his plans with Teddy were delayed a day and they'd Flooed to ask Hermione to come over just after work.

Teddy was less than thrilled about having to wait, particularly since the full moon was tomorrow and he would have spent it with his godfather anyways. He'd been hoping for a bit of extra time since it had been months since they'd spent any proper time together thanks to being away at school. The full moon had a tendency to make Teddy rather irritable the day before and the day of. Add that to his disappointment, and it made for one sullen preteen. Joy. Hermione had had her work cut out for her. While Teddy was typically laid-back and rather easy going, more studious than mischievous, he'd been very nearly a right terror all night.

"Give that back, Jamie!" Teddy yelled from the hallway. "Jamie! Don't even think -"

Hermione sighed. Now what had the kids gotten into? She'd only left them alone for twenty minutes!

"Aunt Hermione, look at this," Jamie said as he came running into the kitchen and skidding around the corner of the table, Teddy stumbling in just behind him. Teddy may be older, but he'd inherited his mother's clumsiness and James was a pro at using that to outmaneuver his pseudo brother.

"Jamie! That's not yours," Teddy huffed, bumping into the table as he tried to follow James.

"It's not yours either. You broke into Dad's office to take it," James announced, ratting him out as he pulled a chair out to block Teddy's path.

"Boys!" Hermione said loudly, making both stop in their tracks and look at her. "What did you take?"

"Jmm," Lily added, looking back and forth at the people gathered opposite her and waving her pudgy arms wildly at the newcomers. Green mush now coated the little girl's messy red hair. No one acknowledged the happy toddler and she settled down, watching quietly with a frown.

James had nearly made it to Hermione's side when he stopped, and Teddy had just begun inching closer again.

"This! What's it do?" James asked, holding something up in his fist that Hermione couldn't quite make out.

"Nothing! The door was open," Teddy insisted at the same time, speaking over James and trying to appear innocent. His hair had turned pink at the tips though, a sure sign that he was lying.

"No, it wasn't. Dad always locks it to keep me out," James said, grinning unrepentantly. The boy could certainly be a menace. He got into more scraps than George's kids and was nearly as bad as his father was when it came to finding trouble.

"Hand it over," Hermione demanded, one hand on her hip and the other outstretched towards James. She'd perfected her no-nonsense look on Harry and Ron years ago, and most of her friend's children knew not to even try to push it when she unleashed it on them.

"Are you going to tell Harry?" Teddy asked tentatively. Hermione turned her disapproving stare onto the young man that so resembled her memory of his father. Teddy's face crumpled, making him look contrite for the first time since Hermione had arrived three hours ago. "I'm sorry, Aunt Hermione. I'll put it back, promise."

"Yes, Teddy, I'll have to tell Harry. You know better. You're supposed to be setting -"

"Wait… Look at this," James said suddenly, twisting a little metal piece about an inch long that wassticking out of the odd contraption. "I wonder -"

"Stop playing with it, James, you don't know what -" Hermione began, moving to take the peculiar object from the overly curious boy.

She could see it clearly now. Apart from the spindly metal limb, it had the iridescent shimmer of an oil slick and appeared to be flowing, though it remained more or less round. How odd… Tiny bulges emerged, pushing outward as if something with many arms was trapped beneath the surface, desperate to escape.

"No, look! This part moves -"

"James! Be careful," Teddy warned, fear potent in his voice. He was just behind James now looking over the younger boy's shoulder.

"Ow!" James cried, dropping the now glowing sphere just as Teddy reached to pull him away from the expanding light. The two boys rushed backwards, a tripping, stumbling progress that kept them away from the empty light.

Black light, consuming in rather than shining out, was emanating from its center, angry and foreboding. The bright, stygian shadow seemed to be pulling things in, swallowing them like a black hole, while managing to repel them all at once. Never before had Hermione known light could exist in the absence of color.

She dove to catch the mysterious contraption, reaching the spot just as it shattered on the floor. Energy released at once, expanding outward like an expanding balloon. With it came a growing force, pushing her back until she landed sprawled on the floor with her back pressed against the sink.

"James Sirius Potter! What have your parents told you about playing with things when you don't know what they do?" Hermione hissed, rubbing her head and groaning as she sat up. "Just wait until… "

There were still three other people present in number twelve, Grimmauld Place's kitchen. They were not, however, the same three people that had been with her only a moment ago.

Oh, no. No.

Now she was surrounded with extraordinary lively ghosts.

They had to be ghosts. Or figments. Or some new magic trick. Maybe that was it. The sphere was actually one of George's new products that Teddy and James had gotten ahold of. It must make a person see things that couldn't possibly be real. They must have set the whole thing up to trick her. It wouldn't be the first time they'd tried to do something similar.

That had to be it though. There was no other likely explanation for what she was seeing. Because Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin were all dead. Therefore, they could not be standing, rosy cheeked in the kitchen of her best mate's house staring at her as though she was the one doing something strange and alarming.

Though why these three in particular would be the ones she'd see was a mystery.

"Jamie?" she whispered, glancing uncomfortably around, searching for her godson. He was probably hiding as he watched her reaction. "This - this… "

Hermione started to stand up, but stopped abruptly. It hadn't register at first, but it was now alarmingly clear that there were three separate wands aimed in her direction. Her movements had caused the three men to aim with more intention, ready to attack if she issued the slightest threat. Fear registered, genuine and true. Since when were George's pranks actually threatening?

The unwelcome sight before her was making it difficult to think. How long was this vision supposed to last? It was getting harder to look at the spectres of the lost people she had long since made peace with losing. Why these three? The question stuck, repeating over and over, and preventing other thoughts from forming.

"Granger?" Sirius asked uncertainly. "That you? What did you just say? Why are you talking about James?"

"I'm more concerned with how she managed to find herself in this house when we've only just cast the Fidelius Charm rendering such a feat impossible," Professor Dumbledore stated. He was asseming her with a critical eye over the top of his half-moon spectales perched low on his nose, much as she was the three of them. "There should have been no way that she could get through such wards."

No one had lowered their wands. It left Hermione feeling trapped and edgy. Her fingers twitched, spasming around empty air. It didn't escape her notice that Remus's eyes locked onto the movement making him tense, ready to attack should she go for her own wand.

He looked different than she remembered. Less run down, fit but thinner, tired. If she had to guess, there must have been a full moon recently. Though it didn't make sense since it was supposed to be tomorrow night. His sandy-blond hair was less grey at the temples, but his eyes were far more blue than she recalled, piercing and pale like the blue ice of a glacier. It was easy to see how much Teddy's bone structure and facial features resembled his father, though Teddy's hair was typically turquoise and his eyes were the emerald green of Harry's most of the time.

It felt strange for Hermione to be assessing Remus now. He'd been less than a decade older than she currently was when he died, and something about his appearance indicated that he wasn't even that much older right now. Hermione had always had such respect for him and the position he had held as he teacher and a leader of the Order, but it was startling to realize she suddenly had appreciation for him as a man. Her throat felt dry just looking at him. No wonder Tonks had pursued him so determinedly.

Embarrassed by her inappropriate feelings, she looked quickly away.

"I… " Hermione started, unable to determine the proper thing to say, and still feeling flustered from her frank appraisal of Remus. Something wasn't right, but she was in the dark. It was not a place she embraced being. "Wards, but -"

"You're not fifteen," Remus said suddenly, eyes widening with the realization.

"No," she replied, brow wrinkling at the peculiar remark. Why would he think she should be a teenager, and one literally half her current age? She knew she'd aged well, but it should have been obvious she wasn't fifteen. Why would his mind even go there?

Was it possible that this was really happening?

"Miss Granger, how did you know to come here? How did you get in?" Professor Dumbledore asked, drawing her attention back to him. He'd lowered his wand at least, but that was far from reassuring giving his proficiency and skill at dueling.

That was when she noted his hand. It was healthy and whole - not the withered deadened thing it had been prior to his death at the end of her sixth year. He appeared less stressed, free of much of the weight and responsibility that was so apparent once it became known that Voldemort had indeed returned and was attacking openly.

"I was already here watching the kids -" she started, hesitantly and very quietly. It was getting harder to pretend this was a prank gone wrong. James would have already ruined it by laughing at her reaction by now if it was really a prank.

"What kids?" Sirius asked.

"Harry and Gin -"

"Enough," Professor Dumbledore interrupted, preventing her from continuing. "Can you prove who you are? Can you prove you are, in fact, one Hermione Granger?"

"This… isn't one of George's pranks, is it?" Hermione asked, the truth becoming more undeniable by the minute.

"No, my dear, I'm afraid this is very much real," Professor Dumbledore confirmed. Hermione's eyes closed against the knowledge that she was actually with the people long dead. The only way that would be possible was if… But no. She couldn't let herself even consider the possibility and all the ramifications that would entail. "Now, back to my question, if you please," he reminded in a gentler voice as though he were trying not to frighten a wounded animal.

"I helped you escape on Buckbeak the Hippogriff during my third year with the help of a Time-Turner," Hermione said to Sirius. It was the first thing that came to mind and an event that very few knew the details of.

This was her first time studying him properly. The ravaging effects of Azkaban were overlain on every inch of his body, from the sallowness of his skin to the gaunt, sunken eyes to the prison tattoos peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt. His hair still hung limp and greasy, not to mention partially matted. A shower and a few solid meals would likely do him a world of good. Though he currently seemed unbothered by his state, far more disturbed by his surroundings. Made sense, all things considered. Sirius's dislike for his childhood home was well documented. It was why he'd run off to live with the Potters before his sixth year at Hogwarts.

"And did you use a Time-Turner to bring you here now?" Professor Dumbledore inquired. Hermione's head snapped around to look at the headmaster.

A Time-Turner? And that right there was confirmation of her fears. She'd gone back in time. Back to before Sirius's death at the very least.

Most certainly it was a time she shouldn't be in. One she had no business in as she currently was.

"No. It was something else. I'm not sure what. Likely some dark object that had been confiscated," Hermione admitted, looking around the kitchen and finding no sign of the unfamiliar device that had caused this. "Whatever it was, it's gone now."

"I see," Professor Dumbledore said, removing his glasses to clean them on his blue and silver robes. His face was impassive, giving no indication of how he felt about this recent, unexpected development to his plans.

"W-when am I?" Hermione asked nervously.

The two younger men looked to the headmaster for a cue on if it was all right to answer. He hesitated, then seeming to come to decision, replied, "The twenty-seventh of June. 1995."

"No. That would mean that Voldemort only just… "

"Regained his body. Yes, just," Professor Dumbledore agreed, nodding slightly. It also meant Cedric Diggory died only three days ago.

"Sir," Hermione said, panic compromising her ability to inhale properly. She pausing, forcefully drawing in a deeper breath before beginning again. "Sir, you can send me back. Can't you? Can't you fix this?"

"If you had used a Time-Turner then yes, I could have. But without it, and not having the device that brought you here… " he trailed off, hands spread before him in an unmistakable gesture of helplessness.

"Surely you know of something. Some way that -"

"I'm afraid there's not much I can do. My hands are tied, so to speak."

"But, Sir! I've already been seen. You know what that means, you understand. The consequences of my being here - the countless things that could have already been altered or changed between now and my time just by my being in this room with you right now," Hermione said in a rush, looking from one man to the next as desperation sank its razor talons painfully into her chest, burrowing deep. "The future… wh-what will happen to the future I know?"

"We will have to be careful. If I'm not mistaken, you've traveled quite far within your own lifetime," Professor Dumbledore said, a calculating gleam entering his eye.

"When are you from?" Remus asked curiously.

"2010."

"Did we win? You said Harry. Does that -" Sirius started, eagerly moving forward as he demanded news of his godson.

"Do not answer that," Professor Dumbledore commanded sharply, once more acting to prevent information of the future being revealed.

"Of course not. I'm not a fool. I know what happens to those that mess with time," Hermione reminded. She had no intention of deliberately altering the timeline. She would not risk a different outcome coming into being. She would not risk having to see Harry lying dead - only this time remaining so. "I've research Eloise Mintumble and what happened to her quite thoroughly."

"You always did like your research," Remus murmured, a small smile playing about his lips. Hermione found herself returning the smile without consciously deciding to.

"It was one of the rules - a condition of my timer turner use in third year," she said, partially as a means to distract herself, and partially just because she was always in the habit of explaining things to others.

"I, for one, am grateful you didn't follow all of the rules you were given," Sirius said lightly. "What's the problem of bending just a little rule now?"

"More than you can begin to imagine," Hermione said darkly, frowning in disapproval at the cavalier way Sirius regarded things. He rolled his eyes as though already familiar with her reactions to his antics.

"Yes, Miss Granger - I'm assuming it is still Miss?" Professor Dumbledore began, then paused to frown. He studied her a moment before nodding and continuing without the least response from her. "Miss Granger is quite right. Much could go wrong if she were to tell you anything or try to deliberately change even the smallest detail."

"But there's still the problem that I've already been seen. What am I supposed to do?"

"It would probably be best that you remain here. This place is already under protection, there's plenty of room, and you should be safe enough if you stay inside," Professor Dumbledore answered. "So long as you don't reveal anything related to the future, it should not be an issue."

"You can't expect me to hide for the next fifteen years," Hermione said, exasperation leaking into her words. "And what about when the rest of the Order starts showing up here? The Weasleys? Harry? Me?" It was easier to point out the flaws in his logic than to continue worrying or face the knowledge that there was not going to be an easy solution to her predicament. Even magic had its limitations.

"I will need to think on the situation for a bit. For now, we shall just have you avoid everyone except the three of us. I'm sure, in time, I shall find a solution. But first, I must focus on more pressing matters - I'm sure you agree," Professor Dumbledore said decidedly, the matter settled in his mind. Hermione bit back the words threatening to spill from her lips. He didn't have time to wait to find a solution for her - because he'd be dead in less than two year's time. "Remus, you are still up to taking a shift tonight, yes?"

"Yes," he said, sighing tiredly as he scrubbed a hand over his face. It looked as if he was going to have to forgo yet another night of sleep.

Hermione nearly asked if his shift was watching Harry or the prophecy, but managed to bite back the question moments before it left her lips. It was going to be challenging keeping her knowledge to herself. Besides, Harry was still safe at school for another few days, so Dumbledore must have been referring to the prophecy. But just how bad would it be if she slipped up? Who would suffer for the mistakes she made?

"Looks like you've got yourself a new cellmate," Hermione muttered to Sirius, suddenly feeling exhausted herself. "Best get settled in."

"Please don't tell me we're going to be stuck here for very long."

"Something tells me you don't really want me to answer that." Not that she would if she could.

It struck her then - the fact that she was very likely trapped here with these people. People she'd once cared about. People she was going to grow to care for again. People she was going to have to endure losing all over again. It was asking so much. Too much. Too much for any one person to be forced to endure.

"Perfect. That's just bloody perfect," Sirius muttered darkly as he followed her up to the room on the third floor she remembered would one day be converted into Harry's home office, but for now was an empty guest room that none of the Order members ever claimed during the summer they'd spent here. This summer.

Hearing the depressed utterance had her wondering if she would be able to handle it. Something told Hermione that maybe, just maybe, she couldn't.

And as she glanced back to take in the man that had been so wronged for so many years, as she saw the state of his person and remembered the impact his death had had on those she loved, she already felt her resolve not to change anything from minutes earlier wavering.

His previous question haunted her, hovering in the air and demanding a new answer, _"What's the problem of bending just a little rule now?"_

No, she probably wasn't going to be able to avoid trying to change at least a few things…


	2. 2: The Beginning

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

If it isn’t obvious, this story actually begins during the last chapter of _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ since the students remain at the school for nearly a week after the events of Third Task. This chapter takes them to the end of the book when the students have departed for summer vacation.

Also, from Hermione's perspective, everything that happened in the books - minus the epilogue - still happened. You'll see subtle shifts and changes as the story progresses and how that plays a part in her choices as the story continues.

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 2 - The Beginning

June 1995

Grimmauld Place

Hermione barely slept, tossing and turning fitfully. Memories of the war played out behind her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. Scenes best forgotten were determined to haunt her as she came face-to-face with the ghosts of the past. Echoes of violence, pain, loss, and agonized screams left her sweaty and shaken. Muscles ached from the prolonged tension.

Giving up when the weak morning sun filtered through her window to slice across her screwed shut eyes, Hermione dragged herself out of bed. The dimmed rays were gloomier than ever, as though the atmosphere of the ancient Black home was intent on poaching them of all their usual accompanying warmth and promise. It wouldn’t surprise her if there were spells in place to do that very thing. It’d taken Harry months to get the place renovated before he could move in after the war. 

A quick charm and a strong glamour had her robes freshened and the bags under her eyes hidden. She’d have to speak with Professor Dumbledore about obtaining a few spare sets of clothes. Fabric only held up for so long under wand work, and the only possessions she had were what were on her the night before -- her clothes and fortunately her wand. And it wasn’t as though she could venture out to get what she needed herself. Not when she was required to stay hidden. Plus, her savings were all currently out of reach.

Making her way downstairs, Hermione transversed the familiar path to the kitchen recalling the various times she’d resided there over the years. Her summer before fifth year, the fall of what should have been her seventh year, just after Harry renovated, and finally, when she and Ron had officially called it quits. Now she was to be trapped here for some unknown period of time. Probably longer than all of her previous stays combined. Wonderful. 

Hermione paused outside the door to the kitchen, realizing from the muffled voices coming from within that the room was already occupied, and unsure how she was supposed to interact with the two previously dead men that were now her contemporaries. They were practically the same age now! 

“You might as well come on in, Hermione. The food isn’t likely to taste any better cold.” The pointed barb had her flushing, but did serve to get her moving. The last thing she needed was to appear timid and cowardly. It simply wasn’t in her nature. She’d nearly reached the table when Sirius sneered as he added, “The little beast will probably start poisoning it once he finds out you’re Muggle-born so eat up while you can.”

Hermione froze, lips pursed as she stared disapprovingly at Sirius.

“Hermione?” Remus asked, concerned. 

He looked even more tired this morning than he had the night before. When had he returned from guarding the prophecy? Had he even gotten a chance to rest before joining Sirius for breakfast?

“I’d forgotten how cruel you could be,” she murmured, a dozen incidents replaying in her mind, temporarily overshadowing her worries over Remus. Everything from the scenes in Professor Snape’s memories to the treatment of Kreacher she’d witnessed firsthand.

The words had slipped out unconsciously, but she didn’t regret them. They gave nothing away that he mustn’t already know of himself, just laid the facts bare for all to witness, forcing a harsh truth to light.

“What? Kreacher? He’s a useless sack of --”

Sirius was a by-and-large good person. But there was no denying that it was this very behavior and attitude that had contributed to his death. If he had shown Kreacher even an ounce of compassion and kindness, the house-elf never would have helped trick Harry into going to the Department of Mysteries that night, and therefore sent Sirius rushing after him only to die. 

Kreacher’s loyalty, once obtained, was unshakable. Hermione had watched the elf serve Harry faithfully for nearly a decade prior to his death, and all because Harry had been good to him. It would never be all right to witness someone kicking an abused puppy, so Hermione couldn’t stand to watch Sirius do the equivalent without commenting. Witnessing injustice and not attempting to stop it made a person just as guilty -- even if they weren’t actively participating.

“He’s a sentient being capable of feeling each and every unfair taunt and heartless, cutting word you say. A fact you’d do well to remember,” she said darkly, staring him down until he flinched beneath the piercing daggers of her accusing eyes.

“What’s that last bit supposed to mean?” Sirius demanded, jumping on the least important thing she’d said. 

“Your best mate is a werewolf,” Hermione said, glancing at a startled Remus, who no doubt wasn’t used to someone discussing his predicament so openly. “Victim to a racist, prejudiced society and all that it entails. I’d think you, more than others, would do your part to improve the situation, rather than perpetuating it.”

At this point in his life, Sirius might be too set in his ways to teach the old dog a new trick or two, but Hermione would be damned if she didn’t at least try.

“That’s not why you said what you did,” Sirius insisted, leaning across the table to clutch her hand now that she’d finally taken her seat, her views on the matter aired. “What do you know?”

“Too much,” she breathed, tugging her hand free and pressing her lips firmly together. 

Merlin, was she going to have to watch her every word around the man? She should have known he’d be desperate for any possible scrap of information he could get his hands on. 

“Hermione, if --” Remus began tentatively, almost beseechingly. It was much harder ignoring his earnestness. At least with Sirius’s nearly childish bugging she’d had practice saying no. He so reminded her of Ron back in school when he wanted to copy her assignments. 

“Don’t. You know I can’t,” Hermione cut in, holding up her hand as though to physically block his request. 

“But,” Sirius whined. 

“But nothing. The subject is closed,” she announced firmly. 

“Ah, I see we’re settling in nicely,” Professor Dumbledore said suddenly, sweeping unexpectedly into the room. His brilliant blue robes reflected the witchlight filling the room off the mirrored surface of hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled about the fabric. “But I’m afraid I must second Miss Granger on this -- the subject is, indeed, closed,” he added, smiling politely and nodding at her. 

It irked Hermione to see his approval of her actions. Unusual, considering she’d once valued teacher approval above nearly anything else in her life. Always striving to behave in a way that would earn her that validation. Seeking a pat on the head or a treat from them like a well-behaved pup. But that had been a long time ago, and she was not the girl she once was. War had a way of thoroughly changing a person and their priorities.

Hermione had become a leader in her own right, and had made a career out of challenging others. Oftentimes, the very act of defiance and ruffling feathers of the powerful was how she judged that she was doing the right thing. While she'd usually been good about it, now she always made her own choices - even if they weren't popular or went against those of the people she admired.

Even after all these years, and all she knew, the idea of going against Professor Dumbledore unsettled her.

It had taken years after the war to come to terms with Albus Dumbledore’s actions. Her time with Harry while on the run, and witnessing his pain, the hardest to reconcile and justify. She still didn’t agree with everything Dumbledore had done during the war, but she did believe he was the best leader they could have hoped for, who had done what he did with the intention of helping the most people. 

“Now that that’s settled, I believe we have Order business that needs seeing to, yes?” Dumbledore asked, looking from Sirius to Remus.

“Everyone is ready to meet once you are,” Remus confirmed.

Hermione obviously wasn’t meant to take part in the discussion seeing how they were making no attempt to fill her in. Yet Dumbledore appeared equally untroubled to have her listening in. Did everyone just automatically assume she already knew everything that had happened within the Order? 

She didn’t.

Considering she, Harry, and Ron were supposed to be in their seventh year when the war ended, and had been on the run before that, they’d never actually been officially inducted into the secret organization before it was disbanded.

Though perhaps it was better that she simply listen for now. Dumbledore had just gotten through agreeing that she shouldn’t interfere. Hermione imagined the foreseeable future would be very difficult for her to endure. Sitting back and allowing horrible things to be done by terrible people -- all without trying to help. Impossible, more like. Particularly if she had nothing to occupy herself with. 

“Yes, Arabella and Dedalus have both owled me,” Professor Dumbledore acknowledged, nodding slowly as he looked about the room. 

Hermione busied herself by pouring a cup of tea and stirring a lump of sugar into the dark, bitter brew. How Sirius could stomach the stuff without sugar, she’d never know. Remus apparently favored his on the sweet side too, because his lips twitched when he saw her grimace after the first sip, and he reached over to nudge the sugar closer to her.

“Fat lot of good I’ve done sitting around here,” Sirius complained, slumping angrily back in his chair.

“Sirius,” Professor Dumbledore began chidingly, “you’re providing us with a safe place to meet. That is in no way a trivial contribution.”

“And it was you that reactivated the remaining members,” Remus added, understanding his mate needed a bit of validation just then. 

The petulant scowl quickly twisted up into an amused smirk as he said, “That had been fun -- got a kick out of shocking them all with the news I was actually still one of them.”

“Did Madam Maxine agree to go with Hagrid?” Remus asked, returning to the real subject at hand.

“Not yet, but I believe she will. Though I don’t expect we’ll hear much from them this summer,” Professor Dumbledore said, sighing tiredly. He glanced at Hermione again, but she avoided the look by busying herself with adding another lump of sugar to her tea. “I believe Bill is making headway with Miss Delacour with their recent correspondence these last few days. He helped her acquire a position at Gringotts, and she is very well connected. We could use the additional foreign support,” he continued, and this time, Hermione had to bite her lip to disguise her smile. Headway indeed! 

Fleur had become much more bearable since the night after Malfoy Manor when she’d tended to Hermione’s wounds. She’d even gone so far as to stay up all night, sitting in the chair beside her bed. Each time she’d startled awake from a nightmare, Fleur had been there with a kind word and a glass of water, promising her that she was safe and that she’d look after her. The kindness had been so unexpected, so genuine, that they’d truly become friends after that.

Hermione had a hard time admitting when she was wrong, but she had been with Fleur. Probably because she was jealous of the way Ron used to fawn over her. But jealousy had faded, and now she could see the act Fleur had initially put on around the Weasleys was in large part due to nerves, and that truthfully, she was a brave, loyal, and intelligent woman underneath the pretty mask she projected to the world.

“Are the Weasleys the only confirmed new members then?” Remus asked, mildly alarmed. Hermione wondered if he was recalling the First Order. Their numbers had been greater then, and it hadn’t helped them near enough.

“A by no means small contribution,” Professor Dumbledore replied pointedly.

“There are certainly enough of them,” Sirius chimed in with a bark of laughter.

“Molly reminds me of her brothers,” Remus acknowledged sadly. Hermione had forgotten about the Prewett twins until he said that. Gideon and Fabian. They’d died in the first war. How awful must it have been for Molly allowing all of her children to risk their lives knowing what could happen, knowing she could lose them too? Then to lose Fred…

Fred.

He’d be arriving at Grimmauld Place before too long. Another ghost to haunt her. The tomb of a house was getting awfully crowded with the soon to be deceased.

The dark shadow on Sirius’s face distracted Hermione from the morbid moment she was having. It was easier to focus on, well, anything else really. And his swiftly shifting moods and temperament kept things interesting. What had his hackles up this time? The Weasleys? Molly? 

Oh. Harry. Sirius was jealous of his godson’s relationship with the family. Jealous of the time they got to spend together.

Hermione couldn’t imagine what that’d be like. To lose Ron or Harry, then not be allowed access to the closest reminder that remained of them… 

Before, when she’d known Sirius as a child, she’d not particularly cared for the way he tried to find bits of James in Harry. It had worried her. Especially with the amount of danger Harry was constantly facing, and Sirius’s penchant for encouraging Harry’s reckless streak. But after surviving the war, and getting to know Harry’s children, she understood the root of the desire a lot better now.

“Yes, but none of them have fought before, nor are any of them especially qualified duelists,” Sirius complained, Harry’s safety his priority. Probably, he doubted anyone else could protect Harry as well as himself.

“But each and every one would willingly die for Harry,” she stated quietly.

“Miss Granger,” Professor Dumbledore said lightly, halting anything else she might have been planning to say on the matter.

“You might as well begin calling me Hermione -- I’m no longer your student, Albus,” she countered, not appreciating being scolded like a schoolgirl. She was perfectly aware of the dangers of sharing too much, and had no intention of saying more than she would have at that point in time if they’d asked her fifteen-year-old self her opinion.

“Of course… Hermione,” he agreed, recognizing the shift in dynamics between them in this new situation. Plus it would probably make differentiating her with her younger self a little easier once she’d arrived in a few weeks.

“Has Arthur been able to recruit anyone from the Ministry?” Remus asked, still focused on the state of affairs within the Order.

“No. Not yet,” Albus said tiredly, taking a seat at the table. For the first time Hermione could recall, he looked his age. Perhaps even older. Hermione focused on stirring her tea long past the point when she knew the sugar had dissolved. The distraction helped her to keep her thoughts on the matter to herself. “Fudge has made things difficult for us sooner than I expected. Arthur has had to be more cautious and discrete than I’d planned. I have a few candidates in mind for him, however.”

“Who?” Sirius demanded. Remus appeared equally troubled, the skin around his crystal blue eyes tight with barely concealed tension.

“They will be vetted. Things are much different now,” Albus assured him, removing his glasses and wiping them on a lavender cloth he produced from thin air. “Alastor suggested Kingsley Shacklebolt, for one. From what I know and remember of him, he’d be a fine addition.”

Albus’s eyes flicked briefly to her again, then to her hand still stirring the cup as he replaced the metal frames. At first, when Albus had allowed her to remain while he discussed Order business, she’d been curious. But now she could see his ulterior motive. He was judging her reactions, searching them to make sure he didn’t allow a spy in like last time.

“Albus, you can’t scold me for sharing then use me to vet your members. No one appreciates a hypocrite,” she said lightly, lips twitching despite herself. It was actually quite clever of him, toeing the line between protecting the future and using her knowledge to gain an advantage.

“Too right. My apologies. I shall just have to assume that my judgement is sound and there will be no traitors this time around,” Albus said, closing his eyes briefly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Remus offered, “he had us all fooled.”

Albus nodded, but said no more on the subject, instead announcing, “We’ll have our first meeting this Thursday night after all the students have departed for summer vacation. Severus should have much to relate by then.”

“You can’t really plan on trusting him! You just got through saying --”

Hermione glared at Sirius, annoyed that he’d so quickly forgotten what she’d said earlier about treating individuals better. After everything Severus Snape had done to ensure Harry defeated Voldemort, it infuriated Hermione to hear someone saying anything negative about the man. Sirius broke off uncertainly when he noted her ire directed his way.

Albus radiated authority as he sat up straighter, placing both hands flat atop the table to squarely face Sirius. 

“Severus has his reasons for turning against Voldemort -- reasons that are not necessary for you to know. I expect you to trust me. I will not tell you again -- this has already been once more than I thought I would have to do. We must stand together. That is the only way we will win, and as Hermione has already inadvertently revealed -- Severus is on our side!” Albus said sharply, tone brusk and hard as titanium.

“Understood,” Sirius said contritely, crumpling in the face of Albus’s censure.

“Until then, we need to keep an eye on… things,” Albus said impatiently, struggling to keep the disappointment out of his blazing eyes.

Allowing childhood grievances to get in the way when they needed every strategic advantage possible, was difficult for Hermione to let go without further comment as well. Not that she would have been eager to trust Malfoy if he’d showed up at the Burrow before Bill’s wedding and offered them information. But then, he also hadn’t had Dumbledore’s trust and backing at the time -- given that he’d helped bring about the man’s death, and all.

“I’ll watch Harry,” Sirius volunteered immediately, animated once more. A dog catching sight of a squirrel, Sirius was once more the earnest soldier ever at Albus’s disposal. 

“You know you can’t,” Albus reminded him quietly.

“If I do it as --”

“I’m afraid that won’t work. The Death Eaters know you’re an animagious by now,” Albus cautioned, shaking his head.

“I can. I’ll watch him, Padfoot. At least until there’s a more feasible permanent schedule made up,” Remus volunteered, resting his hand meaningfully on Sirius’s arm. He must have known that Sirius would have trouble trusting anyone else to watch his godson. At least the sting of being unable to go himself would be lessened if Remus was there in his place. “I can begin placing additional wards immediately, before he returns.”

Albus nodded, accepting the offer, and informing him, “I’ll have Mundungus relieve you at night.”

“No. Get someone else to cover him at night,” Sirius demanded.

“We’re spread thin. Arthur, Sturgis Podmore, and Dedalus Diggle have already agreed to take guard turns at the ministry. Everyone will need to do their part, but I’ll only use Mundungus as a backup relief watch. Would you deem Bill or Hestia acceptable, Sirius?”

“Yes,” he said grudgingly, jaw set mutinuously as he slumped back in his seat once more to pout over his lack of useful contributions. It was clear Sirius had no tolerance for being benched. He was used to being in the thick of things, and was struggling to adjust to the way things had changed.

The mention of the ministry and guard duty made Hermione realize why she’d been so iked with the headmaster earlier -- secrets. Albus and his secrets. Severus. Harry. Always secrets. No trust in others. 

It had been fifteen years for her since she lived through this the first time. It was easy to let time fade her memories of Albus’s flaws. Especially in light of all the good that he’d done for the wizarding world. Many, herself included, had a tendency to focus on the positive, and forgive the negative since he’d not been around to defend his choices. She’d done the same with Sirius. All the little things she’d noted about the two men as a teenager were flooding back to her now though.

“Haven’t you learned anything by now? Trying to keep Harry in the dark only motivates him to be even more reckless,” she sighed. If they’d only been up front from the beginning, so much would have gone differently.

Harry had told her once that Albus had kept it from him because he’d grown to care too much for Harry. That was easy to believe. But that one decision had had a domino effect.

“She has a point,” Remus said quietly, lending his support to her argument.

“That may be,” said Albus, “but some burdens are too heavy for one so young. He has the right to enjoy his youth before shouldering what he must.”

“Young? Youth? When has Harry --”

But Albus cut her off, speaking loudly at first to cover the sound of her voice, saying, “I fear things may be said in the heat of the moment that perhaps are best left unsaid. My decision has already been made.” 

He stood, making a production of pushing in his chair. Hermione feared he was correct. Too much. Too much potentially dangerous information would no doubt have been shared if she’d been allowed to properly debate this course of action he seemed set on taking. 

She berated herself for the near slip. That could not happen again. Not without careful premeditation on the subject beforehand. Albus was trusting her because he knew her capable of discretion. She’d already proven it to him. She didn’t doubt that he’d erase her memory entirely if he worried she’d accidentally ruin things for their side. Better that, than to allow Voldemort to win.

“And I really must be going. Madam Pomprey is releasing Alastor from the hospital wing tonight and I must prepare an announcement for the final feast tomorrow night. Then there are the extra safety precautions to see about for the Hogwarts Express before the students leave. And there are several people I’m attempting to track down this summer. There’s simply too much to do, and not enough time to do it.”

It didn’t escape her notice that he’d not mentioned a word during his visit about trying to send her back. Probably, it was impossible. From everything she’d read, it had never been done before without the use of the original object that initiated the time travel event.

Remus was watching Sirius, concern shimmering in the crystalline depths like broken shards of light passing through an aquamarine. “Notice he didn’t suggest I join the Order or take a shift,” Hermione said lightly hoping to pull the moody man out of his funk. “It’s not as though I haven’t been guarding Harry longer than any of the rest of you.”

“Too much risk of you spilling something else,” Sirius smirked, suddenly amused that for once he hadn’t been the only one called out and chastised by the headmaster.

“Or being seen. I assume the younger version of yourself will be joining us here before too long?” Remus questioned.

“Won’t that be interesting!” Sirius barked, anticipation flipping a switch within him.

“I’ll probably get stuck hiding out with Buckbeak,” Hermione groaned, already missing her job at the ministry. 

She’d just been promoted to Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. All that work for nothing. All the good she was attempting to accomplish put on hold. Now to spend her days hiding in a dusty room while a hippogriff gnawed on weasel bones. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll need an escape from time to time, and sneak up to visit too,” Sirius offered. 

Hermione forced a smile for him. Great. A sullen ex-convict suffering from arrested development. They’d surely have lots in common to talk about.

Remus’s lips twitched as he surveyed her expression. “There’s also the library. I don’t imagine any besides myself will visit willingly. That’s assuming my presence won’t disturb you,” he suggested. 

“Never! I’d love to hole up with you.”

The library! She had not even considered having access to it. Many of the rarest books had already been taken and sold by Mundungus by the time Harry learned he was thieving and put a stop to it. Several were one of a kind, and Hermione couldn’t wait to dive into them. 

And Remus had spent much of his time at Grimmauld Place the summer she’d stayed. He’d be around to keep her company. Finally, someone as well-read as herself that she could carry on a meaningful conversation with!

There were several books she’d longed to discuss with someone. Theories behind the formations of particular spells too that she’d love to dissect. Oh! And her work on improving magical creature’s rights. The bill she’d been proposing before her promotion had been in relation to werewolves. It’d been shot down, but with Remus’s help, there were several changes she could make and try putting it through again after the war was over and her situation was sorted out. 

Hermione was so wrapped up in her plans, that she almost missed the speculative look Sirius shot Remus, and the way the wolf blushed beneath his mate’s scrutiny. When Sirius caught her eye, he gave her a playful wink. Peculiar.

Or maybe not.

Her reply had been rather overenthusiastic. Merlin. How was it that an innocent comment sent her back to her second year when she’d been infatuated with her professor, and Ron couldn’t stop teasing her over it?

Wait, why had her mind gone there? She’d had a crush on Lockhart, not Remus. Though he really was more attractive. Lockhart was a decorative plastic Easter egg, pretty on the outside but empty on the inside. A disappointing let down. Remus was no empty shell of flimsy plastic. He was extremely capable, highly intelligent, fiercely brave and loyal, and surprisingly attractive.

Funny how she’d never noticed before, but he was. Perhaps it was the time apart. Or maybe her experience had merely changed her perspective, but it was true. 

His eyes had always been remarkable. The blue of a glacial lake, hypnotic and serene. More, they were filled with a lifetime’s worth of evidence of his strength. A glimpse was all it took to detect the depths of his soul. Then there was silver at his temples that blended rather well with his blond hair, but just then it made him look rather distinguished. And the process of shifting into a wolf required a great deal of energy and physical exertion, so he was extremely fit. Not that it was easy to detect beneath the loose robes he wore. But Hermione knew from experience that every werewolf was remarkably toned. 

The same could not be said of the most recent bloke she’d spent time with. The effects of a sedentary life spent primarily behind a desk had been beginning to show where his robes stretched unflatteringly across his middle. They’d only shared a few meals together before Hermione was forced to break it off. Her reasons may seem shallow to some, given that he was a perfectly nice colleague that she’d previously enjoyed working with, but the idea of being intimate with him had made her stomach turn over and her skin cringe.

Remus did not --

Hermion cut the thought off abruptly, unsettled by the direction her mind had traveled, and quickly corrected, “I just meant it’d be nice to have someone I can have an intelligent, mature conversation with.” A grimace twisted her face as she recognized the tactlessness of her words.

A lack of meaningful dialogue was the primary reason none of her relationships had worked out. Hermione needed her mind to be as engaged as her libido. Not many were up to the challenge or even capable of keeping up with her intellectually. That had been the beginning of the end for her and Ron, and the hardest part about attempting to date others after him.

Oh Ron. She missed him. Especially now that they were finally what they were always meant to be -- friends. Just friends. No romantic hang-ups or unrequited feelings. 

They’d tried to be together after the war. Merlin knew they tried. For more than two long, grueling years they’d tried. They tried so hard neither had any energy left for anything else in their lives. 

That first year together had been a roller coaster of highs and lows, both suffering the after effects of the war, and focused on rebuilding. They hadn’t even been around each other all that much that year. 

She’d gone to find her parents in Australia for part of it, but given up after three months with no luck locating them. In all likelihood, they’d died at some point. When she’d returned, Ron was busy with Harry and Neville participating in the crash course Auror training Kingsley had arranged for them. And she’d been preoccupied with school, deciding she wanted to sit her exams before accepting the Ministry position offered to her. It was important to her that no one ever believed she was handed a job she hadn’t earned the right to. 

But as they learned to separately cope with the events from the war and move on, there was nothing left to hold them together. No common interests. No shared hobbies. No unrelenting need to look after and assist Harry. And with that realization, the physical passion slowly fizzled out as well. And without that, there’d no longer been a reason to fight or argue anymore. 

Too much wasted energy. She started staying later to get work done at the Ministry, using it as a convenient excuse to avoid Ron. And he started traveling, taking the semi-frequent trips out of the country to track Death Eaters that Harry turned down -- a promise he’d made to Ginny.

By the end, they’d been so obnoxiously polite to one another. Each walking on eggshells so as not to be the first to start a fight or hurt the other’s feelings. Exhausting didn’t begin to cover it. It wasn’t like they’d stopped loving each other, they just weren’t in love with each other, and neither knew how to be the first to say it.

She’d never forget the day Ron finally spoke up. It was probably the bravest she’d ever seen him. He’d said, “Tell me the truth -- do you want to keep trying to make this work? If you say yes, then I’m in. But I don’t think you do, and I can’t truthfully say I do either.”

And just like that, it was over and she’d temporarily moved in with Harry and Ginny.

A few months after they’d broken up, Ginny introduced Ron to the newest Chaser that had recently joined her on the Holyhead Harpies, Valmai Morgan. The Welsh witch was striking with dark blue eyes like the heart of a sapphire, pale ivory skin, and long straight hair of inky bluish-black. But for Ron, her beauty came second to her incredible talent on a Quidditch pitch. She’d been in Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, but only a Fifth year at the time of the Battle of Hogwarts, so she’d not been involved in the fighting.

The two were married within the year, but had held off starting a family so Val wouldn’t have to give up her Quidditch career. A career Ron was heavily invested in. Val had been about seven months along with their first child when the accident sent Hermione into the past. Now Hermione would have to wait another fifteen years to finally meet the child.

“I’m going to choose to ignore what your statement just implied, and prove my maturity by not taking offense to that,” Sirius said, drawing her back into the conversation.

“Of course you won’t,” Remus said, ignoring the awkwardness in favor of teasing the rambunctious pup beside him. “I actually have a few books at home I might bring by for you to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

“Yes, I’d enjoy that.” Hermione unexpectedly felt herself flustering at the idea that he valued her thoughts enough to seek them out. Probably, he was simply being kind and attempting to offer her a diversion he knew she’d enjoy. No point reading more into it. Not when he was --

Hermione blinked. Albus hadn’t mentioned Tonks as a potential member for the Order when he’d been there earlier. She tried to think back on her first summer at Grimmauld Place. When had she first met Tonks? Not until the night Harry arrived. But that hadn’t been until August. Over a month away.

The sound of laughter had her tuning back in to hear Remus and Sirius bantering about a late night adventure Sirius had had in the Hogwarts’s library with a Ravenclaw. The story and the way they left their sentences half finished, each already familiar with the tale made her miss Harry and Ron. She longed for the similar camaraderie she shared with them.

Quietly, Hermione excused herself and fled to the library, needing the escape of a good book.

~

Three days later, Hermione had staked out one of the armchairs by the fire in the library while the first meeting of the second Order of the Phoenix was taking place in the downstairs kitchen. She’d expected to be curious, longing for some Extendable Ears to listen in. But when the time came for the actual meeting, she couldn’t be bothered to try and eavesdrop. Time and knowledge left her too far removed from the situation. 

At least for now. Voldemort hadn’t made a move until the following May.

The current lull gave her time. Time to decide if she should interfere or not. 

She was beginning to think she had to -- at least a little -- if the book that was even now residing on her nightstand was any indication. _Magick Moste Evile._ It was the very copy she’d stolen from Professor Dumbledore’s office after his funeral. There was no way two rare books would both have a brown ring stain from the bottom of a teacup in the top left corner of page seventy-nine. 

It had to be the same copy.

Yet in 1996, that book had been on a shelf in the headmaster’s office with several others he’d supposedly pulled from the Restricted Section of the library at Hogwarts. So what was it doing here, now?

Hermione kept coming back to her third year when she and Harry had used the Time-Turner to save Buckbeak and Sirius. Each time they lived through the events, they heard the axe fall and Hagrid cry out. Those actions happened each time, even when they altered the events. Only the perspectives changed. And the differences didn’t become widely known until later.

Time was such a complex beast. A relative unknown, despite the dangerous aspect that manipulating it possessed. Very few had ever studied it in depth. And most of the existing research was unpublished, and therefore unavailable to the average curious individual.

Of the books that had been published, most insisted that time was a closed loop. Even if someone tried to change the past, those changes wouldn’t become known until the loop was closed, and there could be no way of determining that things had ever changed at all. Had she always ended up here? Was it her that gave Albus that book originally? Had she already changed things in her past?

There were no definitive answers. No clear-cut choices. Hermione hated when the solution wasn’t black or white. This wasn’t a puzzle she could solve through extensive research or a riddle she could cleverly sort out, deducing the answer through the use of logic and reason.

Thinking about it gave her a headache. Truthfully, it just made the one she already had worse. An overly persistent mutt was responsible for the near constant ache she’d been suffering the last few days.

Sirius had taken to springing questions on her at random times, hoping she’d spill something. Remus had been away for long hours preparing Privet Drive for Harry’s impending arrival, so there was no one else around for Sirius to harass. He dogged her throughout the day, following her around and bombarding her with nonsensical babbling before slyly slipping in a question just when he sensed he’d annoyed her to the point she was ready to explode on him. Between the times she felt like boxing his ears in retaliation, he was a painful reminder of her friends and how they’d been at Hogwarts.

A reprieve from the gnawing circus of her thoughts came in the form of Remus. He quietly made his way over to settle into the companion armchair before the crackling fire. The warmth of the flames combating the ever present chill in the ancient house. 

“Any fireworks?” she asked, realizing the meeting must have recently ended.

“Only the expected taunts and jabs. No bloodshed,” he confirmed.

“I suppose that’s as much as we can hope for,” she said, sighing.

“We do what we can to wrangle them in.”

“It’s practically a full time job,” she replied, pausing as a thought occurred to her. Remus was planning on watching Harry all day, then he’d been here in the evenings to catch a few hours rest before returning to Privet Drive. “I guess, for you, right now it is.”

“Yes. It’s better than some of the jobs I’ve had in the past,” he said casually. It was hard to believe given he was about to spend his days watching someone he cared for suffer from neglect while he was forced to stand idly by. 

Perhaps she could learn from his example, and do the same these next three years. So much was at stake. She knew the laws. But that damn book! It had to mean something.

“What was the best?” she asked curiously. Given his status as a werewolf, and the toll it took each month, forcing him to take time off to recover after each full moon, he probably hadn’t held any one position for very long. It was one of the issues she’d hoped to address with her bill -- including built in days off after each full moon without repercussions. “Teaching?”

“Yes and no. That year was difficult --” Remus broke off, his mouth still open as he searched her face.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, wondering if he already regretted almost confiding in her about his time as a Marauder or more recently as her professor. 

The latter was… difficult to wrap her head around. Probably even more so for him. They’d never had the chance to move past the teacher-student relationship they’d once had. And now, being so close in age, and with her so changed from when he last saw her, it was as though that time had never happened and she was a completely different person. A stranger he was just getting to know. 

“Honestly, it’s refreshing to talk to someone about it. I expect you understand… that clash between past and present. Insane adventures. Missing friends. Challenges -- the truly hard kind. All of it,” said Remus, surprising her.

“Yes,” she agreed, tucking her feet up under her in the chair, settling in for what she expected to be a long conversation.

“I feel guilty,” he admitted, “confiding in you when you don’t have the same luxury.”

“You’re no stranger to keeping secrets yourself,” she replied, smiling. He’d been forced to hide his condition most of his life from everyone lest he be ostracized.

The next several hours were spent bonding over the difficulty in keeping secrets from the people they cared about. Remus didn’t push for her to share more than she could, and for the first time since she’d arrived in this time, Hermione felt herself relaxing and letting her guard down. It had been more taxing than she realized to constantly maintain it.

The conversation naturally segwayed into several of the adventures Remus had gotten up to with James and Sirius. Many causing Hermione to laugh or good-naturedly chide him for their antics. It was easy and wonderfully enjoyable to listen to him reminisce. 

When the clock struck two in the morning, Remus realized he couldn’t put off retiring any longer, needing to catch a couple hours rest before he was to relieve Bill at five for his first shift watching Harry.

“Perhaps tomorrow we’ll actually get around to talking about that book,” he said waving at the blue and grey tomb beside her chair on the side table, casually implying they’d spend the next evening together as well.

“You’ll have to tell me if you agree with the hair straightening spell’s inclusion in _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_ ,” Hermione said as Remus held the library door for her to exit the room first.

“I take it you do not?” he asked, chuckling bemusedly at her.

“Of course not,” she scoffed, ascending the stairs to her room on the third floor.

“Because straightening spells have been around for over a century or because of the vanity behind the application?”

“I guess you’ll have to come see me tomorrow to find out,” Hermione said lightly, opening the door to her room.

“Until tomorrow then. Goodnight, Hermione,” Remus said, inclining his head slightly and waiting for her to shut the door before he departed.


	3. 3: Little Changes

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

This chapter doesn’t really have any Remus/Hermione action, but don’t worry, it’s coming :)

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 3: Little Changes

July 1995

Grimmauld Place

Evenings in the library had become a ritual over the last couple weeks for Hermione and Remus. The hours they spent together were the best part of her day, and the only thing she looked forward to. At least twice a week he brought a new book for her to devour. Always, it was one he’d already read, so he’d be able to discuss it with her afterwards for hours, until his already hoarse voice, from years of strain howling, was raspier than ever. Most were even books she’d never read before.

She’d asked him about that, and he’d said they were all books he’d either run out of time at Hogwarts, and not gotten to read since they weren’t directly part of the curriculum or that they were books Hogwarts didn’t even carry. He’d selected these in particular for her, because he assumed she’d not read them yet either.

It was the little considerations such as that, that left her floundering a bit. He did other things too. Such as bringing her a fresh cup of tea when he joined her in the evening or opening doors for her. Hermione was always striving to prove herself, to overcome the stigmas associated with being a Muggle-born and a woman that inherently suggested she was inferior. As a result, she had always scoffed at those types of old-school gestures some men made, assuming it implied a belief of helplessness on the woman’s part, but Remus showed such undeniable respect for both her mind and her ability to take care of herself, that it didn’t have the same condescension to it that it did when other men did the same. 

There was also the fact that growing up with Ron and Harry, she had very little experience with men doing those things, and she was often flustered and unsure of herself when they did. Hermione hated feeling uncertain. But with Remus, it felt more natural. A part of who he fundamentally was at his core.

In return for his thoughtfulness, Hermione began saving dessert for him, hiding some away when she and Sirius had dinner. If she didn’t, the mutt would scarf it all down. Hermione had tried talking him into leaving some for his best mate, pointing out Remus’s sweet tooth, but Sirius argued that he was making up for lost time, and he had twelve years of missed desserts to make up for. Once he’d even gone so far as to insist, “Remus prefers it this way. Moony is trying to watch his figure.” The blatant falsehood had been delivered with a straight face and an ease that belied years of practice.

Hermione had promptly flicked her wand and sent the slice of apple tart he’d been eating sailing up to smash him in the face. Her humor was short lived though, because Sirius only shrugged before scraping a gelatinous coated apple chunk off his cheek with his fingers and popping it into his mouth before reaching for another bite of the bit covering his nose. The cringeworthy sight had completely stolen her appetite. 

Much the way the sight of Remus after the last full moon had done. He’d had five fresh scratches on his face and four more on his neck. An ashen pallor had clung to him for the next three days, and he’d winced with each and every movement the entire time. Not once had he acknowledged his pain or bemoaned his situation and lot in life. 

The full moon had come a little over a week after her arrival. He’d stayed at his house where he already had a cell designed to contain him. At first, Hermione hadn’t understood why that was necessary, then she realized it was because Professor Snape was no longer brewing the Wolfsbane Potion for him. Probably hadn’t been since he’d helped get Remus sacked after Sirius’s escape.

The potion was a controlled substance. The production and distribution of it was highly regulated by the Ministry. Furthermore, it was very expensive. But because of the employment restrictions and limitations, the people most in need of it had no access or means of procuring it. 

The topic had been on her mind for the last few weeks. Debating with herself over whether or not what she wanted to do was the right call. Tonight, everything seemed to fall into alignment, offering up the perfect circumstances to act if she was going to. Albus had left the Order meeting part way through, so he’d not be around to stop her. And after tonight, she’d not have an opportunity again for at least two months, because the Weasleys were coming the next day. After this, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George would be roaming about during the meetings attempting to eavesdrop and she couldn’t risk being seen. 

She’d guessed Snape would try to be the first one out when the meeting concluded, and she was right.

She stood in the door to the dining room on the first floor, knowing he’d have to pass it on his way out. Broken fractures of light danced over her, casting shifting shadows as the dusty chandelier swayed gently. The monstrous crystal structure had serpents curled into large S shapes with candles resting atop their heads and cobwebs stretching from the descended fangs all the way to the high corner ceilings of the room. 

Hermione didn’t miss the twisted serpent door handles throughout the house anymore than the house-elf heads on the walls that Harry had purged while she’d been in Australia searching for her parents. Slytherin motifs would never be her first choice in home decor decisions. 

Snape glanced at her as he strode by, doing a rather comical double take once her presence registered. Catching his eye, she retreated into the room, hoping he’d follow to investigate.

Snape didn’t disappoint.

As soon as he cleared the door, Hermione flicked her wand to seal the door shut and again to silence it. It wouldn’t do to be overheard or set off Mrs. Black’s portrait, located in the hall just outside the room. Thrice already the woman had laid into Hermione in the last month, and that had been more than enough. She may have become desensitised to being called a Mudblood over the years, but no one appreciated having their very existence cursed on a regular basis. And Sirius was always in a much fouler mood after he heard his mother’s shrill, deranged ranting.

Once Snape and Hermione were squared off, she immediately opened her mind, assuming his first step would be to search it. He was too logical to overreact -- unless Sirius or Harry was involved, and he’d know the house was under the Fidelius Charm, so Albus must have invited her in already.

“What is this?” he demanded, the black pools of his eyes intently focused on her.

A needle like prodding took a poke at her mind, testing her defenses. It hastily withdrew upon encountering none. “It’s not a trick,” Hermione said.

“Who are you?” he sneered, disbelief clear to see.

“You know who I am,” she replied, willing him to search out the truth, and knowing he’d not simply take her word on the subject.

The prodding came again, and this time she was even more prepared for the intrusive sensation. Deliberately, she directed her thoughts to her memories of being in his class then shifted to the accident that brought her there, running him through the explosion and the aftermath in the kitchen he’d just left. Expecting him in her head made it easier for her to direct him and only allow him to see what she wished for him to witness.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he stated, stunned. He tried to hide his reaction, but Hermione saw how alarmed he was even as he began calculating all the ramifications of this new development. He was as strategic as Albus.

“Yet I am. And there’s no going back,” she warned, betting he’d planned to tell her to go next. The scowl she received confirmed her suspicions. 

Albus had warned her the week prior that he’d found no way to do it. Not that she was particularly surprised. The first dozen books she’d read after arriving had been about time travel, and she’d drawn the same conclusion. Perhaps if they had access to the Department of Mysteries, they’d have better luck. But with Fudge railroading Dumbledore at every turn, there was just no way. 

Resigning herself to her new fate was a bitter pill to swallow, but she was adjusting to her new reality a bit more each day.

“Did you see enough to believe me?” 

“If I didn’t, you’d be dead,” he snipped, lips curling back slightly to bare his yellowed teeth in a mild semblance of a threatening snarl.

“I’m not that easy to beat, and I’d not go quietly,” Hermione announced, standing up straighter and lifting her chin a notch. 

“Trust Potter to have magics he shouldn’t, and for you to be the one to pay the price,” Snape said disparagingly, placing all of the blame at Harry’s feet and making his ongoing opinion of Harry clear.

Hermione didn’t stoop to take the bait, merely raised her eyebrow imperiously. It wasn’t as though that exact thing hadn’t happened before at least once. It just hadn’t in this case.

“I’m guessing it was a dark object he confiscated at work. The rest was… an unfortunate accident,” Hermione intoned, relating the facts without attempting to chastise him or change his mind. Beating his head against a brick wall would no doubt make a more substantial dent and be far more successful in making an impact.

“Why did you reveal yourself to me? That was very foolish,” he informed her, understanding the risks as well as she.

“I was hoping you’d condescend to teach me to brew the Wolfsbane Potion. I know how busy you are with your other responsibilities, but Remus would be of more use to us if his recovery time was shorter,” she explained, attempting to make the reason for her request go over more palliatively. Plus, she suspected Albus was going to make him start brewing it again soon for Remus, and this way he’d have one less assignment -- particularly one less he’d resent doing given the history between the pair.

“Do not presume to understand what I --”

Hermione cut in, insisting, “I know more than you think.”

Terror momentarily and fleetingly crossed his face before he quickly composed himself and asked, “And just what do you think you know?”

“Everything,” she announced.

Snape backpedaled, turning to flee from the room. Unable to confront a truth he’d worked very hard to hide from the world at large for most of his life. Hermione understood his reluctance. Snape was ashamed of his choices, and he felt unworthy of the feelings he possessed. Probably was afraid of being ridiculed for having them in the first place the way he’d been countless times growing up.

In a desperate attempt to make him stop, Hermione blurted, “Harry named his son after you!”

Snape froze, not turning back to face her. Despite that, she heard when he hoarsely asked, “What did you say?” 

“He has her eyes. Exactly Lily’s eyes. Albus Severus Potter. Named after the two greatest heroes in Harry's life. The two who sacrificed themselves to ensure that he could defeat Voldemort. He knows what you've done for him -- what you will do -- and the reason why. He's made sure the world knows you're a hero.”

He didn’t even flinch when Hermione revealed he’d sacrificed himself. Hermione couldn’t imagine having so little care for her own life that learning death loomed in the not so distant future left her unfazed. 

“You should not be telling me this,” he said, turning his head in profile to see her, accentuating his large, hooked nose. He was paler than Hermione could ever recall seeing, and his eyes were twice their usual size, though shuttered, as if preparing himself to be the butt of a joke but hopeful regardless that she was sincere.

“I know, but you deserve to know that your sacrifices, everything you've been through and everything that you will endure -- it's not for nothing. It has meaning,” Hermione said, tears filling her own eyes as she took advantage of the opportunity she’d not had before to add, “and you deserve to hear someone say thank you.”

Slowly, Snape turned to face her, studying her intently. He looked very young and vulnerable. Tears came hot and fast, clouding her vision with a stinging haze until he was little more than a dark smudge before her. It took several shaky breaths to regain control, and she hastily wiped her face, knowing he’d mock her if she carried on much longer. Not to be cruel, but because of his own discomfort and uncertainty in handling sincere emotions.

“Why do you really wish to brew the potion?” he finally asked, voice little more than a dry croak as the words were forced past a seemingly painful lump in his throat.

“I haven’t changed that much, Professor Snape. I still can’t stand to watch another suffering needlessly,” she admitted, appealing to the goodness in him that she’d just acknowledged he possessed. No matter how well he tried to hide it.

“Bloody, bleeding-hearted Gryffindor,” he muttered darkly.

It wasn’t a flat out denial.

Hermione blinked rapidly, feeling a fresh surge of tears pressing roughly against the backs of her eyes. Surprise made her breath hitch. “You’ll teach me then?” 

He was probably the most remarkable teacher she’d ever had. Certainly he was the only one to ever call her on her habit of simply regurgitating facts rather than processing them and delving deeper. She had a tendency to get bogged down in relating all she knew on a topic instead of focusing on new ways the knowledge could be applied or inserting her own thoughts and opinions on the subject. 

A more challenging teacher she’d never had either. His impossibly high standards always motivated her to reach higher, and strive to do even better. It was precisely what was needed in such a dangerous subject where the smallest mistakes often produced deadly results.

“I have very little time. You’ll have to make yourself available around my schedule,” he said sharply, lips pressing into a thin line once the words were out of his mouth, almost as though he wished they’d never escaped. But it was too late for him to swallow them back down. 

“I am your apt pupil,” she promised, crossing her arms to almost physically restrain herself from giddily jumping up and down in triumph. Surely there’d be no quicker way to get him to rescind his agreement.

“Of that, we shall see,” he said dubiously. “Should you prove incompetent at any point, the lessons will end immediately.”

“Understood, Sir,” she agreed immediately, determined to give him no reason to find fault with her skills.

Snape mumbled under breath as he turned, brandishing his wand to release her spells on the door as he stalked out.

Progress.

All told, that had probably been the friendliest interaction they’d ever had. It’d gone far better than she’d expected or even dared hope. So, yes, progress.

~

Snape arrived first thing in the morning over an hour before breakfast was served. They set up in a tiny store room that doubled as a potion lab just off the kitchen. Harry had always used it as a walk-in pantry, but given this was a wizarding house, this made much more sense. Hermione supposed it was the difference between being raised as a Muggle rather than a wizard, and Ginny could probably care less what happened where so long as her family was happy and the boys were behaving. 

The potion called for the use of more ingredients than Hermione had ever heard of a single brew calling for before in her life. And as Snape began rattling off the preparation instruction of the first step, Hermione blinked at him, astonished for almost ten seconds before his look of annoyance spurred her into action. Already she could see that this would make brewing Polyjuice Potion seem like nothing harder than steeping a cup of tea. And Draught of the Living Death, her most difficult and troublesome potion to date, was as easy as boiling noodles in comparison. 

They worked for nearly two hours just to get the base going. Snape was terse and exacting, but not once did he outright insult her or criticize her efforts. It probably helped that she wasn’t prone to taking offense at the drop of a hat, or just looking for a reason to be mad at him the way Harry had always been. 

Instead, he’d snipe comments such as, “The blade is sharp as a scalpel. Excessive force is not required to produce a clean cut.”

Other times, he’d sneer, “The point of ginger root is to provide essential oils to hydrate the powdered Asphodel. So why have you got your fingers all over it? How do you expect any oil to be left if it is all over your hands?”

After the last, she replied, “Why, Sir?”

“Because your grubby little fingers are wiping it all off,” he snapped.

“No, I meant, why are these ingredients used,” she clarified, always eager to learn more.

“What else is powdered Asphodel used in?”

“Draught of the Living Death,” she rattled off almost before he’d finished asking. The potion and her memories of Harry beating her to win the Felix Felicis Potion already fresh in her mind. 

“If it is not properly rehydrated, you will put Lupin into a coma rather than merely calming him,” he stated dryly.

One side of Snape’s mouth quirked up, and he looked about to comment further when she asked, “And why is it ginger root and not lavender root that’s used in this step? I would think the calming effects of the latter would be the more desirable outcome.”

“Lavender is added later on and in much greater quantities. Ginger root is excellent for sharpening the mind. It is added here to begin the process of allowing the wolf to retain awareness of himself and control of his mind during the transformation,” Snape explained steadily, continuing to measure out ingredients with practiced movements.

“I see. That is why the Armadillo Bile is used in the base as well,” Hermione reasoned.

“Yes,” Snape agreed with just a hint of approval, probably the most she’d ever heard from him. But then, Hermione wasn’t trying to show off her intelligence as proof to those that doubted she belonged at Hogwarts the way she was wont to do in class growing up.

“You actually enjoy teaching,” Hermione stated knowingly, the realization striking her as she ran over the past hour or so in her mind.

“Once that is added, it requires three sets of eight stirs clockwise followed by a three-quarters counter-clockwise rotation to prevent ingredients from settling in the middle,” he said, ignoring her comment.

They worked in relative silence for another forty minutes. The only interruption, the clipped instructions, though Hermione noted that they all included the reasoning behind why the step was done or a question to see if she could deduce for herself why the step was necessary.

It was confirmation that he did enjoy teaching, but only to those who truly wished to learn for learning’s sake. And that he enjoyed people admiring his skill and knowledge.

“Now it must simmer for five days before we can begin the next phase,” he said, beginning to pack up the potion stores he’d brought with him, carefully cleaning the instruments before placing them in his bag.

The realization of what that implied distracted her from admiring the quality of his instruments. Disappointed, she asked, “That long?”

“It will not be ready for the full moon next week. The potion requires nineteen days to brew, and once completed, it will only remain effective for another sixteen days,” he informed her.

“So a fresh batch must be brewed each month.”

“A tiresome endeavor,” he drawled, raising a knowing black brow as he assessed her.

At least she would be able to provide it to Remus in the future. That prospect alone made it worth it her time.

They’d just exited the tiny room for her to see Snape out when they ran into Remus, Sirius, and Albus standing in the front hall. Hermione froze, a caught first year out after curfew.

Snape didn’t speak, but he did smirk and give an amused snort before continuing out, leaving her to explain. 

Git.

“Miss Granger, Hermione, I'd like a moment if you don't mind,” Albus began angrily, heading into the same dining room that she’d had her conversation with Snape in the night before, and assuming she’d follow.

“Of course,” she mumbled, glancing guiltily at Remus and Sirius. Both men were staring at her open-mouthed, and it pained her to note the flash of betrayal on Remus’s face. Unfortunately, there was no time to explain right now.

“You know the dangers of being seen. I thought you understood what was expected of you,” Albus began, not bothering to wait until she shut the door. Then she understood the dual purpose of this set down -- to remind her of the dangers she’d never forgotten, and to remind Sirius that she couldn’t share anything. He must have been pushing Albus to use what she knew. He’d mentioned a few times now that she could be their secret weapon -- an advantage for their side that Voldemort would never see coming. “While it may not be the life you planned to be pursuing, there is more at stake here than just --”

“He has information that I need. I deemed it worth the risk,” she said vaguely, needing Albus to begin trusting her judgement more. Never would she put Harry at risk. The vast array of potential consequences were what had kept her mostly quiet up until this point as it was.

“If you’re certain. It is your life and future you are gambling with,” he said gently, a touch paternally. 

She was again reminded of a kindly grandfather that had no wish to see harm come to any under his care. Same as she always had in school. Worse, she knew that was precisely what was happening here. It left her feeling guilty for even considering going against his wishes, as well as for every doubt or less than generous thought she’d ever had about him.

“Correct. It’s mine, and I trust Severus with my secret, much as you’ve trusted him with yours,” she inferred, hoping he understood the significance of her words. Of everyone, Snape was the one trusted with more of Albus’s secrets than any other. A trust that paid off in the end. Pointedly, she reminded him, “Trust is important.”

“I do hope you know what you’re doing, and that you’ve grown even more clever over the years,” Albus said tiredly, though a cloud of worry still circled his head. Hermione took that to mean he was willing to trust her judgement and leave her to her own scheming.

“I certainly hope so as well,” she admitted, letting a touch of fear paint her words. The emotion was transparent, and the two exchanged a look of shared uncertainty for all the future held. Because Hermione had already begun subtly altering things, and she had no idea what the long term consequences would be. No more than Albus was certain of the outcome of the war and his array of puppet-string pulling.

Hermione sunk onto the sofa when Albus took his leave, burying her face in her hands. She’d thought she was through agonizing over the events of the war years ago, but here she was, hurled back into the thick of it.

She sensed rather than saw Sirius join her. She knew it wasn’t Remus from the way he moved, energetic and heavy steps before he threw himself bodily down beside her. Remus was much more contained and careful. It was another moment of waiting before she realized he wouldn’t be joining them. Probably he’d already left for his shift guarding Harry. She’d have to wait until later to explain about the potion.

“How much did you hear?”

“All of it,” he said unrepentantly. Hermione had already expected Albus meant for him to. That was part of why no specifics had been mentioned.

“Then hopefully you understand me when I ask you to stop giving Snape such a hard time. His life is difficult enough, and we need him more than you could ever imagine. Harry needs him.” 

“I think it’s time we have a real conversation about this,” Sirius said stonily. 

Before, whenever he questioned her, because he was still doing so unrelentingly each and every day, it was more whiny and restless. A kid wanting a peak in his presents before Christmas morning because he was too impatient to wait. Entertainment during this forced confinement. 

Now he was seriously inquiring. With all the gravity of an experienced soldier concerned for a potential compromise or unfavorable outcome.

“You know I can only say so much,” Hermione warned, fearing her fraying nerves and weariness might tempt her to confess more than she should. He’d caught her at a weak moment.

“And yet you say more than you should when it serves your purpose,” Sirius accused.

“You’ve got me there,” she admitted, holding her hands out, palms up in surrender.

It reminded her of the conversation she’d had with Albus the week before. The presence of the anomalous book on her bedside refusing to be put off any longer.

_“Sir -- Albus, have you read this before?” Hermione asked, holding out_ Magick Moste Evile _when he’d dropped by to bring her the spare clothes he’d picked up for her._

_“What’s that?” Albus said musingly as he accepted it, reading the title speculatively before thumbing through a few pages and pausing here or there to glance over a particular passage. “Hmm, no. No, I have not,” he finally said, looking up to search her face._

_“It’s yours if you’d like it. I imagine you’d find it interesting,” Hermione said vaguely even as Albus returned to looking over the book’s cover._

_“I believe it already belongs to me, Hermione,” he said slowly, thumb brushing the binding._

_“What?” she asked, caught off guard by the statement._

_“Did you note this mark,” Albus began, holding it out for her to glimpse the spine, “here?” He pointed at a tiny faded grey shape no bigger than a gnat of what once may have been a shield at the bottom just above where the leather curved down from being positioned upright on a shelf for years._

_“No. I missed that,” she admitted, staring at him quizzically as she waited for an explanation._

_“It’s a mark denoting this book is part of a specific collection in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts,” Albus explained, and Hermione found herself surprised not to have ever noticed the marks before on any of the other books she’d checked out over the years. Of course she’d always been far more concerned with the contents of the book than with the cover._

_“Regulus,” Hermione gasped, hand flying up to cover her mouth a half breath after the name escaped._

_It was part of how he’d discovered Voldemort’s secret. How he’d unraveled the clues and knew what to do. It must have been! This in combination with Kreacher’s story._

_If Hermione had to guess, Regulus stole the book from Hogwarts after Voldemort’s stunt with Kreacher, and he’d used the book to investigate his suspicions. Given his family’s background, he would have been familiar enough with the Dark Arts to have heard of Horcruxes before, and used the passage in the book as confirmation._

_“Hmm? Yes, I suppose it’s possible he took it during his tenure as a student,” Albus said absently, his primary focus back on flipping through the book again. He’d died before Regulus’s part became known the first time around for Hermione._

_Albus’s death._

_Luckily, Hermione had time before she needed to worry about that hurdle. Even if it had been on her mind quite a bit lately._

_“Albus, do you ward your office windows?” Hermione asked suddenly, a new worry occurring to her._

_“Of course. I possess a great many objects and sensitive information there that I wish to keep out of the general student body’s hands,” Albus said, glancing up to gauge her reaction._

_“Seems a bit overkill,” she said with forced casualness._

_He studied her, an insect on display, for an inordinately long time. Scenarios played out in the depths of his eyes. Finally, he allowed, “Perhaps you’re correct. One would have to be intimately familiar with my habits to guess my password and pass the stone guards.”_

_“And surely if they know you so well, you have nothing to fear from them entering your office,” Hermione agreed, playing along with his reasoning._

_“And who would be daring enough to fly through my window,” he speculated, seeming to believe Harry needing entry for some reason or another the most likely source of this line of topic. Hermione didn’t correct him. The reason hardly mattered so long as the window was open for her younger self when the time came for her to steal the books._

_Between the presence of the book and now this, Hermione was becoming more and more certain that she was always meant to travel here and change things. Now it was simply a question of what and how much she could get away with changing._

_Challenging didn’t begin to cover it. There was a wooden rod weighing down her shoulders as she crossed a bed of burning coals. Two buckets of gasoline balanced on either end. One wrong move and the contents would spill, igniting a devastatingly destructive fire beneath her. She couldn’t afford to stumble, let alone fall._

_“None,” Hermione said truthfully._

_“I shall take your point under advisement,” Albus concluded. “Perhaps it’s also time I take a closer look at the library’s inventory. Books such as this might need additional restrictions to prevent the wrong people from accessing them.”_

_“A wise move,” she agreed._

A deep breath centered her, allowing her to refocus on Sirius just in time for him to ask, “Just tell me this much, are you tricking us about him because something important needs to happen or is he really on our side?”

“Would the answer matter if regardless, it meant something good for us?”

“Yes! I need to know,” he insisted, invading her personal space to grip her shoulders. Startled, Hermione gasped, afraid for a moment he meant to shake the truth from her, but all he did was hold her in place, allowing her to see the extent of what her answer would mean to him.

“The truth won’t ease your conscience over the way you’ve always treated him,” she breathed, face screwing in sympathetic pain for the internal dilemma he must be experiencing.

“What was he doing here?” Sirius inquired, trying a different tact to gain answers.

“He’s teaching me to brew Wolfsbane Potion for Remus,” she replied, able to admit that much at least outright.

Confusion morphed Sirius’s face, replacing the intensity he’d displayed previously with a suddenness that left her reeling and scrambling to keep up. Particularly when the confusion was almost immediately overwhelmed by suspicion and disdain. 

“Probably just so Dumbledore doesn’t make him do it himself,” he remarked, jumping to his own conclusions that fit better with the idea of Severus Snape that existed in his mind. 

It galled her not to be able to completely deny the accusation.

The sudden ringing of the doorbell had Sirius jerking away and on his feet with his wand pointed at the door in a flash.

_“FILTH! HOW DARE YOU ALLOW MORE SCUM TO ENTER? THE TRAITORS BEFOUL THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS! BEGONE, VERMIN!”_ Mrs. Black raged, awoken by the abrupt high-pitched buzzing noise.

Sirius’s wand fell to his side, and he hastily grabbed her arm, yanking her up and giving her a shove towards the door. Hermione stumbled forward, attempting to piece together what was happening.

“The Weasleys! Go,” Sirius hissed, seeming to remember they were to be arriving this morning, and that Albus had left to go share the location with the younger members that hadn’t been attending meetings all summer. He paused before his mother’s screaming image, roughly tugging on the curtains. “Silence! You bloody, _OLD HAG!_ ” 

The timely arrival prevented Sirius from interrogating her further, and she raced up the stairs, leaving him to silence his mum and greet the new arrivals while she retreated to Buckbeak’s room to hide until the newcomers had settled in. 

It was going to be a long five weeks for her with them staying there.


	4. 4: Encounters

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 4

July-August 1995

Grimmauld Place

Hermione’s nearly seven thousand square foot prison shrunk to about three hundred square feet -- on a good day -- with additional restrictions on everything from when she could eat to when she could safely venture out to make the trek across the threadbare carpet to use the restroom. She’d been so bored one day, waiting for the house to fall asleep, she’d counted the number of places the wallpaper was peeling in her room. Twenty-two. There were twenty-two spots where a torn edge of emerald satin with silver pinstripe paper had curled up, away from the wall. 

At least the food was better now that Molly had taken over the kitchen. Both Remus and Sirius looked healthier as a result too. That was one of the only positives for Hermione though.

The Weasley family had always been large, but their numbers seem to have multiplied. They were everywhere, and about all the time. Particularly with Fred and George Apparating all over the house. She’d been having a shower at one point in the middle of the night when it should have been safe when Fred popped into the loo. But thankfully, he’d thought she was Ginny, and he’d beat a hasty exit.

The house was so much louder with them around too. It took three days before they finally figured out that they needed to be quiet in the downstairs hallway or they’d be forced to engage with Mrs. Black’s insulting shouts. The crotchety old woman strained her vocal cords at least five times a day prior to that.

And when it wasn’t Mrs. Black yelling, it was Molly. She’d begun systematically cleaning one room at a time less than an hour after arriving. Starting with the bedrooms her and her children were meant to occupy. Each one of her kids had been the subject of her temper at some point or another. Most often, it was the twins. Apparently, they were raiding the house for potential inspiration for their shop as well as possible potion ingredients. Not that Molly had any idea what they were getting up to. She just thought they were making mischief to bask in the chaos it wrought.

Then there were the rows she and Sirius got into over Harry. They were constantly butting heads over one thing or another. Sirius wanted Harry brought there immediately, citing the Weasley’s presence as enough extra security to keep his godson safe. Molly, however, believed Albus was correct, and that it was best he remained where he was with a guard instead. And if it wasn’t that, it was about what actions needed to be taken during the coming school year to protect him or how much he should be told. 

On and on it went. 

From Hermione’s perspective, it was the first time she was getting to see how much thought Sirius put into what was best for Harry. When she’d been younger, all she ever saw was when they were together. During those times, Sirius’s longing for James nearly always tripped him up. He behaved less rationally, too worried about not disappointing Harry or letting him down in some way. Or he treated him too much like a friend rather than the child he was charged with protecting.

The realization left her feeling slightly guilty and sympathetic towards him. Particularly in light of the fact that when Sirius wasn’t in a foul mood over something Molly said, then he was as a result of Snape taunting him over how Molly had recruited him to help her and the kids clean rather than doing something meaningful to assist the Order like Snape was.

Not that the house didn’t thoroughly need a cleansing. More and more dark items vanished each day. Hermione had gone through the house when she first arrived, searching for the object that had resulted in her time travel just to be certain it hadn’t been in the house all along, but she’d had no luck finding it.

She had come across Slytherin’s locket, however. The sight of it left her questioning everything. Each night she visited it, not recalling when precisely Kreacher had nicked it in his efforts to prevent its purge from the house. The first time she’d seen it, she’d been tempted to hand it over to Dumbledore. 

He’d have no reason to visit the cave and drink that potion the night he’d died. Circumventing that might save him. 

But it would only be a temporary solution unless she wanted to interfere with the ring too. Then there was the talk he’d had with Harry after Harry had let Voldemort kill him. Would that still happen the same way? Enough wasn’t known about the afterlife to judge. Had it all been in Harry’s head? What if it wasn’t? Perhaps Dumbledore had to be dead to guide Harry through that. 

Then there was the possibility that Ron might never have left her and Harry if not for the locket’s influence. She’d never truly forgiven him for that. Not entirely, at least. Not in the deepest depths of her soul. But what if he still left them? Their time on the run had not exactly been a picnic. At least with the locket he’d had a decent excuse. Without it, she and Harry might not have been able to forgive Ron at all.

If she revealed the truth about the locket, and Regulus’s role in obtaining it, Sirius would have an opportunity to know the truth of his brother. That had to mean something. But was it truly worth the risk?

In the end, though, she’d decided against doing anything with the locket. The events of the Ministry, when their trio retrieved it from Dolores Umbridge, the deciding factor. They’d helped several Muggle-borns escape Azkaban that day. Possibly saved their lives. And their actions had certainly bolstered their side’s morale. People had needed to see Harry fighting back so they didn’t lose hope.

There was simply too big a danger involved with such a momentous change as destroying the locket early would be. The ripple effects endless. 

Any changes she did end up making needed to be small, or like before with the book, where it was to help set up a situation that she already remembered happening. 

Or maybe be something temporarily undetectable. Now that was something to consider…

And she had plenty of time to herself to do just that.

Molly, unaware of Hermione’s presence and the nightly ritual she and Remus had gotten in the habit of, monopolized much of his evenings the first few nights after the Weasleys invaded Grimmauld Place. Hermione missed their conversations more than she expected to. 

Sirius was likewise occupied, but his absence was actually a relief. Hermione had a feeling part of his craziness stemmed from being locked within this particular house, and was only compounded by the fact that he felt useless. And of course all of that was in addition to his fighting with Molly and Snape.

Perhaps the worst for Hermione were the echoes of voices heard through the walls. The knowledge that a version of Ron and Ginny were just out of reach taunted her, making the days seem endlessly long and lonely.

Brewing with Snape was the only thing she had to look forward to the first couple days after the Weasleys arrived, and that was just the anticipation of the challenge since she still had to wait before actually doing anything for it. It infuriated her that the instructions for brewing it weren’t readily available in any book for purchase. Only a Potions Master had access to the formula. It was just another way of keeping werewolves under the thumb of the Ministry.

Such blatant injustice left her blood boiling. It wasn’t a choice to become a werewolf! Yet victims were punished the rest of their lives because they were unlucky enough to be scratched or bitten. There was only one night a month, a few hours at most, where the individual was even affected by the curse. But somehow that was seen as making them ineligible for attending Hogwarts and being educated, unsuitable in most individual’s minds as someone to love or have a relationship with, and unfit to employ for most jobs in the wizarding world. And it was outright illegal for them to hold a position within the Ministry, qualifications be damned.

Lycanthropy had almost zero impact on a witch or wizard apart from the night of the full moon. Unless they lived as part of a pack, but that was a whole other story. There was no evidence that it limited magical potential or hindered mental capacity. Bill Weasley, despite not fully becoming a werewolf, actually experienced some of the most extreme changes with his highly visible scars and altered dietary preferences -- neither of which were significant enough to bat an eye over. 

These sorts of inequities had been the focus of her career. She’d steamrolled the Ministry these last fourteen years, pushing her research and facts on people until they’d been forced to acknowledge her points. So far she’d managed to get laws passed to improve the lives and circumstances of house-elves, centaurs, and goblins. 

The only road blocks she’d consistently run into were in relation to giants and werewolves. Both had their origins in the war. Grawp and Remus’s actions not carrying enough weight to off-set the negatives resulting from those of their species that sided with Voldemort or the fear many witches and wizards still harbored for the magical creatures.

But Hermione wasn’t giving up.

It was hard not to be disappointed over the current derailment of her career, but she’d decided to use some of her foreseeable downtime to write up new proposals that had a better chance of being passed, and have them ready to go when the time came. 

~

The arrival of her younger self coincided with Snape’s next visit. And apparently an encounter the two had on his way to meet her in the store room resulted in a variety of creative barbs for him to needle her with as they worked. 

Once upon a time, his words probably would have reduced her to tears. But currently, she found herself biting back laughter more often than not.

“You had the nerve to question the grade I assigned you for your end of term exam!” he spat when he finally realized her shoulders were shaking with silent laughter and not sobs. 

She imagined he didn’t quite know what to make of her reaction, not after spending over an hour listing his every grievance with her from the last four years in between instructions for brewing the potion. Some of the things she and her friends had gotten up to were mind-boggling. What had they been thinking? But hearing the tales again felt almost like reminiscing, even if Snape was coloring them in the worst possible light imaginable.

An adult Hermione who was his intellectual equal, failed to tremble in fear at the sight of him, made no attempts to turn her nose up in disgust at his appearance or habits, and didn’t outright despise him was not something he was prepared to confront. He didn’t seem to know what to make of her or how to go about interacting. They weren’t friends or colleagues. She wasn’t one of Voldemort’s cronies that he was forced to politely interact with lest the madman discover his true allegiances. And she hadn’t spent years making his teenage years miserable. Hermione was simply an adult witch who was unintimidated by his manners, and treated him like any other normal wizard.

“It was quite unfair of me,” she mock-commiserated, recalling when she had indeed broached the topic with him that summer. Her indignation over the undue docking of points had been festering for weeks, and the unexpected sight of him that summer had temporarily bolstered her confidence enough to call him on it. “Imagine, being upset over the deduction of points because I wrote more than you requested,” she stated, covering her mouth as though horrified by her blunder.

“You wasted an extra hour of my life pouring over the additional two feet of that cramped writing you submitted,” he complained.

“You poor dear. Think of it instead as my attempt to spare you from the unwanted socializing you’d have had to endure otherwise,” she teased, thoroughly enjoying their banter. It was the most social interaction she’d had all week, and he was a worthy opponent to sharpen her wits on. Familiar too, seeing as this was the sort of relationship she and Ron had settled into over the years since their split.

His nostrils flared at her words, and he changed tactics, determined to get a rise out of her. “And have you never heard of a hairbrush?”

“Have you never heard of shampoo?” she fired back.

“You impertinent --” he growled, spinning to face her. He towered over her with his impressive height, topping six feet by at least two or three inches as compared to her five foot four frame. The way he was attempting to use his elevated stature to intimidate her was a clear indicator that her taunt had struck a nerve.

She had to remind herself that he didn’t have many friends and was likely unused to trading insults without the intention of drawing blood. From what she could remember, Snape was always on the defensive, striking first and brutally before those around him had the opportunity to mortally wound him. 

If they were to develop any sort of working relationship, let alone any semblance of a friendship as she hoped to form with one of the few individuals that knew of her, she’d have to tread lightly and move slowly. He was like an abused animal, skittish and weary of strangers. As likely to bite the hand that reached to pet him as he was to flinch and cower from it.

“Professor -- Severus, you know how much I admire you. The tremendous debt I owe you, that a lifetime could never repay. It was a jest, in retaliation to the one you initiated. There was no ill will behind it,” she apologized immediately, hoping he could detect her sincerity.

He nodded once, but the lightheartedness had fled with her careless remark. Hermione deeply regretted the loss as she watched the stiff movements Snape made. They finished preparing that phase of the potion in tense discomfort before he took his leave. Stating simply that he’d return for the next part in a week.

Only the fact that he didn’t reprimand her for the use of his first name, and his plans to return, gave her hope that things wouldn’t always be so strained between them.

~

“Kreacher doesn’t understand. There is two of the Mudblood. Master orders Kreacher not to speak of this to any other ever,” the house-ef muttered, slinking into the library hours after the rest of the house had gone to bed. “But Mudblood stands there when Kreacher left her eating in the kitchen. Oh if my Mistress only knew that scum would touch her silver! The Black silver. They is unworthy to even look upon it!”

With nothing engaging to occupy her time, Hermione had taken a nap late in the afternoon, and unfortunately slept far too long. It was supper time now, but to her, it felt like early morning. She needed to convince Albus to let her help the Order in some way. Considering she’d been at school for her fifth year during her first go around and the Daily Prophet couldn’t be counted on to actually report the news just then. Those factors had prevented her from keeping abreast while in school, so it wasn’t as though she knew enough to unduly alter the outcome. Anything would be better than sitting around doing nothing.

“Kreacher, it’s all right. We aren’t the same,” Hermione said gently, hoping to help the elf make sense of things. And honestly, she was so far removed from her younger self that it wasn’t all that much of a lie. 

It was remarkable how different Kreacher was at this time than he’d been after the war. Hermione remembered arguing with people over Kreacher’s behavior, insisting he wasn’t right in the head and didn’t know any better. Seeing him here again, like this, and she knew she’d been right. Years of isolation had taken a heavy toll of him. Loneliness. Self-recriminations. An insane portrait spewing vile blackness. It’d all added up. Particularly when so many new faces were suddenly bombarding him and causing such upheaval in the house that had served as his sanctuary for the last decade. 

Several years of consistent kindness and affection had been required to help Kreacher reconnect with the world around him. Truthfully, Harry had probably been the one best suited for the task. His own abusive, neglectful childhood providing him with a point of reference with which to relate.

“The Mudblood talks to Kreacher. Kreacher ignores her. His Mistress, oh his poor Mistress, if she knew what they were doing in her house -- the type that trapses in taking over like they has a right!” he continued, face twisting into a look of revulsion though he didn’t direct it her way given how he was “ignoring” her.

“Kreacher, I know what a loyal house-elf you are. You’ve served the Blacks well. Regulus would be so proud that you’re still trying to serve him,” Hermione said kindly, hoping the acknowledgement would be a comfort in a time when he was so uncertain and everything around him was changing.

“Master orders Kreacher to not reveal anything. Kreacher pretends he doesn’t see or hear the nosy Mudblood. Coming here and saying things she doesn’t know about,” he grumbled, bulbous eyes flicking discreetly in her direction before darting shiftily away.

Hermione watched as he proceeded to stuff a framed picture that he’d lifted from a table positioned between two bookcases under his filthy, fraying loincloth. His comment reminded her of her first full day in Grimmauld Place.

_“Hello, Kreacher!” Hermione exclaimed when the house-elf ambled unexpectedly into the kitchen just before dinner. She’d known he’d be there, but this was her first encounter with him since her arrival. The sight of the dirty, matted grey hair, little clumps like pom pom balls stuffed unceremoniously into his ears saddened her._

_“The Mudblood talks! Oh, if Kreacher’s Mistress knew the scum her shameful son --”_

_“Don’t call her that!” Sirius cut in, standing abruptly from the table to glare down at the elf. He looked furious, but Hermione wondered if it might not be equal parts the insult and the reminder of his hated family. “I should give you clothes for daring to be so spiteful, you pathetic --”_

_“Sirius!” Hermione scolded, furious that he’d use her as an excuse to upbraid the poor, mistreated creature._

_“In fact,” Sirius continued, waving her off, and resuming his seat. For a moment, Hermione was confused. Then she realized he was untying his shoelace. Understanding dawned, and she could just bet he’d gotten the idea to give the elf a sock from Harry. “I think that’s exactly --”_

_“No! You can’t,” she cried, rushing around the table to grip his arm forcefully. “Sirius, you mustn’t. Not ever. We need him.”_

_Never had she thought she would stop the freeing of a house-elf. The act of slavery was abhorrent to her. Alway would be. But she knew they needed Kreacher, and all she could do to appease her conscious, was remember how happy Kreacher would one day be after Harry freed him, and convinced him to live out his final years as part of the family with everyone caring for each other._

_“You can’t be serious,” Sirius muttered doubtfully, staring at her as though she’d gone round the bin. “Need him? He’s useless. There’s no way keeping him is the safer option. The Order will be meeting here soon. He’ll hear things he shouldn’t, and… “_

_The sound of his protest died off as he watched Hermione shaking her head. In the end, it wouldn’t matter what secrets Kreacher told. Keeping him around was worth it. Delaying his freedom to ensure he was where he needed to be, and eventually had a happy, loving future was worth it._

_“He has to stay. For Harry,” Hermione stated firmly, invoking Harry’s name and his well-being because it was the only sure way to prevent Sirius from arguing further._

“Kreacher --”

But Kreacher continued as though she’d never said a word, adding, “Master Regulus tells Kreacher to destroy it. Kreacher will keep it safe until he finds a way. Mudblood here pretends to understand while Mudblood there goes about throwing my Mistress’s treasures out.”

Hermione frowned as he made his way towards the door, steadfast in his efforts to ignore her. She didn’t attempt to stop him, knowing the action would not go over well, but she couldn’t watch without at least trying to offer him a small token of comfort or hope, saying, “One day soon you’ll have a family again, and I promise they will love you.”

“Kreacher knows his family. The Blacks are his family. Oh, if only poor Kreacher could go to his family -- his loving family,” Kreacher said louder, sounding positively gleeful at the prospect of reuniting with more Blacks. 

Hermione covered her mouth in horror. All this time she’d believed it was Sirius’s actions alone that led Kreacher to betray him. But it had been Hermione that planted the seed of going to Narcissa and Bellatrix in the first place.

That put a whole new perspective on things, as well as her responsibilities.

~

Last night the full moon had returned, and just in time to celebrate the twilight hours of Harry’s birthday. It was why Remus hadn’t been able to join her in the library after everyone else had gone to bed. At least that time wasn’t because he was busy disposing of curtains for Mrs. Weasley.

It was still early enough that everyone was asleep, so she risked heading to the library to grab a few more books to occupy her day while holed up with Buckbeak. The only breaks ever came now when Sirius brought her meals, using the excuse that he needed to feed the hippogriff. The closer the time came for Harry to come stay with them, the more impatient he became, and the more demanding his questioning got. Her friend’s fifteenth birthday had left him more on edge than ever.

As though thinking about it summoned him. Sirius opened the library door an instant before her hand made contact with the knob.

“Sirius!” she gasped, startled by his sudden appearance. He appeared equally surprised.

After a quick glance about, he hoarsely whispered, “Please, Hermione.” The request held an almost desperate edge to it, one that she’d not heard from him before.

“Sirius —“

“The first thing you said when you arrived — James Sirius Potter. If you tell me nothing else, at least tell me this much. That name… Harry lives long enough to have a son. He gets to have that -- a family,” Sirius said, choking on the words. 

For a moment he looked as he had the day she arrived, unkempt, scruffy, a little deranged. It had been a couple days since he last showered, maintaining his personal hygiene, a task he was still struggling to get back in the habit of. The result was his ebony hair was often lank and greasy. And even after a month of steady, nutritious meals, his skin still held a hint of sallowness. Then there was the dark edge of his prison tattoo visible even now near his neck.

Something about his appearance, the pleading quality to his words made her think he might be up so early because he, like her, had suffered from nightmares. Hers had starred her captivity at Malfoy Manor, much as they usually did. How much worse would it be to dream of Azkaban and the rotting stench of the happiness-draining Dementors?

“What if I told you the only way for Harry to win, was if you went back to Azkaban?” Hermione asked before she could stop herself. She didn’t know where the question came from, only that she needed to hear his answer. It was imperative that she know. His reply could very well dictate what she decided to do next. Particularly after her conversation with Kreacher had made her culpable in his fate.

His pallor, already compromised, dulled to an ashen grey. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and Hermione could see the way his entire body trembled. Hermione watched his lips form the words more than she heard the question he posed, “Is that what it will take?”

“Could you do it -- for Harry?” she repeated.

His eyes closed and the trembling worsened, morphing into full blown shaking. If not for that, Hermione would have sworn she was gazing upon a corpse. One staring out of his own grave as his soul was roasted on a pyre in Hell. 

Memories. Sirius was remembering his tenure with the Dementors. They were his own personal version of hell.

“Yes,” he finally answered, the word brutally clawed from deep within him, leaving bloody gouges in its wake.

“What if it was an Azkaban without Dementors --” she started. Sirius’s eyes snapped open, and his lips parted to interrupt, but Hermione held up her hand to stall his question. “What if you just had to remain here for years to help Harry? Could you? Or would you prefer death? Tell me the honest truth and I’ll answer your question.”

“Would I be all alone here?” he asked, glassy eyes wavering. 

Hermione watched the light flickering off their shimmering surface and could almost see the hellfire raging within, but she didn’t respond. Didn’t answer his question. She hated herself for putting him through this, but she had to know what he was willing to endure. The knowledge would steer her course from here on out. 

“I’d do whatever it took to help him -- anything,” Sirius finally managed.

“If my presence here doesn’t mess everything up,” she began, swallowing thickly. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Harry is a wonderful father to all four of his children, and he loves them dearly.” She figured Teddy was as good as Harry’s son, and might as well be included in the total. “And nothing truly awful or irreparable happens to him this summer,” she added, attempting to offer amends after the pain she’d inadvertently dealt him.

“Thank you,” Sirius gasped, crumpling back against the wall as he broke down.

Hermione reached out to him, but he twisted roughly away, retreating up the stairs, and making it clear he wished to be left alone.

Unsteadily, Hermione walked through the doors to the library, and straight into Remus. 

He was standing just inside the doors, and Hermione could see without asking that he’d heard the entirety of her conversation with Sirius. It made sense why Sirius had been coming out of the room now. The two friends must have been visiting before Mrs. Weasley put everyone to work for the day.

“I think he’ll let up on you a little now. That was his primary concern — Harry’s safety and survival,” he tried, guiding her to sit in their usual spots before the dying fire. Nothing more than orange embers, softly glowing and pulsing like the slow beating of a heart, remained. The previous conversation left her chilled, and the trepid warmth emanating from the hearth did little to penetrate the ice encasing her.

“Yours too,” she murmured, knowing it to be true. Harry was the closest thing to family Remus had at this point in time.

“We feel a responsibility to James, for everything, after everything… I imagine you understand given your close relationship with Harry and Ron,” Remus said, seeming unable to properly articulate the depth or range of all that relationship encompassed or meant to him.

But he was correct. She did understand. It was the same drive that had motivated her to follow Harry through the trapdoor as a first year. To steal potion ingredients as a second year. To break the law third year. To do a dozen other things, including going on the run and fighting an uncertain war despite the dangers. Yes, she understood perfectly where he was coming from.

“I do,” she said simply.

“Have you… Nevermind,” he said, catching himself before he asked a question she couldn’t answer.

“Speaking of Harry…” Hermione prompted, realizing what was off about this conversation. Remus was ordinarily gone by now.

“Albus gave me today to recover,” he said tiredly, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Of course. Last night had been the full moon. The information had slipped from her mind during her confrontation with Sirius. He didn’t have any visible wounds this month, but obvious exhaustion still blanketed him. Remus continued, “Mundungus is watching Harry for me today.”

Hermione was abruptly grateful that his eyes were closed so that he missed her reaction to the news. The Dementor attack would happen that evening. Right on schedule. 

“Would you mind if I spent the day with you?” Remus asked, rolling his head against the back of the chair to look at her.

“I’d welcome the company,” she answered honestly, truly excited by the prospect. 

“Good. I’m really not up to anything physical today,” he said dryly, voice more raspy than usual. No doubt it was a byproduct from the recent howling and the screams of agony he’d unleashed while transforming the night before both into and out of his wolf form.

“Last night was a rough one?”

“No more than usual. Speaking of, I haven’t had a chance to thank you yet. Sirius told me what you and Severus are doing for me,” he said gravely.

“It’s nothing. I’m glad I can help,” she replied, waving away his gratitude.

“It’s not nothing to me, Hermione,” he said more intently.

The intensity in the way he was looking at her made her breath catch and her pulse race. No one had ever looked at her that way. As though he really saw her. All of the complex, complicated nuances that made her, her. Not the bookworm. Or Potter’s best mate. More than the high ranking, influential Ministry official. And the decorated war hero. He seemed to see it all, in addition to the part that was at its root, just a woman. 

The sound of the house beginning to stir broke the spell. Hastily, Hermione sealed the library doors shut, grateful the room had been one of the first tackled by the Weasley crew and that they’d be undisturbed here for the day.


	5. 5: Reality Check

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

I know JK Rowling has posted that Tonks was born between 1 September - 31 August 1972-1973. But in Order of the Phoenix, when she first meets Harry, she says she’s been an Auror for a year, and that’s a three year program, meaning she most likely graduated Hogwarts four years before the events of the book which took place in 1995 and was then actually born between 1 September - 31 August 1974-1975. It also means she probably graduated the year before Harry started Hogwarts. 

For the purpose of this story, Tonks’s birthday is August 28th, 1975, so she (like Ginny) is one of the youngest in her year and was still seventeen when she graduated, and is therefore turning twenty-one during chapter seven of this story. Her being as young as possible will play a role later on.

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 5: Reality Check

August 1995

Grimmauld Place

Hermione glared at the chess board. He should not have beaten her. She was sure her strategy had been sound. Years of facing off with Ron had honed her skills at the game and improved her strategic ability. By the time of the accident, he’d typically only win three out of every four games they played. 

Val once suggested he might be letting her win occasionally just to keep her coming back for more, but Hermione didn’t think that was true. Practice was the reason she’d started winning every now and again. Surely. Just as she should have won this game. 

“Glaring at the board won’t alter the outcome,” Remus teased, not even trying to mask his victorious grin.

Maybe he’d cheated. That seemed like a very Marauder thing to do.

Hermione ran through the moves again in her head, double checking.

“And I didn’t cheat,” Remus added.

“How’d you…” Hermione trailed off, flushing over what she’d nearly admitted. Remus wasn’t underhanded, so the thought really had no business crossing her mind.

“Guess that you suspected that? Because you’re a sore loser who can’t imagine not being good at something,” he said cheerfully, accurately calling her out.

“I thought I’d gotten better with time,” she said, frowning at her white queen. The two inch tall figure was still animatedly shaking her fist at Hermione, though Hermione had long since silenced them after the first piece of advice they’d offered resulted in the loss of one of her knights. “Ron and I play every Sunday after dinner.”

Hermione’s head jerked up as she realized her slip.

“It’s all right. I already assumed he survived,” Remus said casually, reaching out to reset the board.

“You did?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

“Harry’s son. You called him James Sirius. I imagine if Harry lost his best mate, his son would carry Ron’s name in honor instead,” Remus explained. The way his eyes closed before he ducked his head told her he’d used the same deductive skills to determine that Sirius didn’t make it either. She wondered if her cellmate had drawn the same conclusion. Or if he even cared so long as his godson lived.

“He may have more than one son,” Hermione pointed out logically.

“True, but I think, in this, I am correct. Particularly in light of your earlier comment,” Remus said, studiously straightening the pieces. “You miss him.”

There was a peculiar note in his voice. Hermione couldn’t quite place it. But it was intriguing enough that she couldn’t let the subject drop, though she knew she should. She was fast approaching dangerous waters, and treading would only keep her afloat for so long.

“Harry?”

“Ron,” Remus clarified.

“I’d be hard pressed to say which I missed more,” she admitted, sighing heavily. It’d probably been the same for him after the first war, losing all three of his best mates in one swoop. It didn’t even matter that Peter was a traitor, or that he’d thought it was Sirius for years. Loss was loss. Particularly when it was so abrupt and absolute. “I work more closely with Harry, so I see him more, but the three of us try to get together a few times a week.”

Remus looked confused, but thankfully he didn’t ask her to elaborate. It was a relief that even when she did slip around him, he didn’t push for more. And she’d slipped a few times around him. Always because she felt so comfortable interacting with him and he was so easy to confide in. 

“Will you tell me about the adventures you got up to at Hogwarts? Your first few years at least -- since they’ve already happened,” Remus requested, steering them towards a safer topic.

Hermione launched into the tale of how an ordinary day had quickly morphed into her hitting Malfoy, skipping her first -- and only -- class, and storming out of Divination. She’d decided to start with that since he’d been at Hogwarts himself at the time, and was probably already semi familiar with the story -- from the teacher’s perspective at least. 

Laughter rang out around the room frequently as she spoke, and once she was finished regalling him with her antics, he requested another one, so she told him about the first Quidditch match she’d ever been to, and how during it, she lit Snapes’s robes on fire just before Harry caught the Snitch in his mouth. 

“The other day, Severus ever so politely informed me that he’s still a bit sore over the whole matter,” Hermione concluded, covering her mouth to hide her amusement over Snape’s fury when they’d last been brewing.

“So you lot were up to no good even back then? James would have loved it,” Remus chuckled. “Anything else happen that year?”

“There was an incident involving a troll and the girl’s loo,” she said offhandedly, “but I think you’re going to have to wait to hear that one.”

“I suppose I will just have to suffer waiting. You’re a very good speaker,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. Hermione had noticed him doing that several times throughout the day, though less and less frequently as early evening set in. Probably working out the lingering stiffness from his transformation the night before. “It’s easy to get swept up in what you’re saying.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice over the years,” she said dryly, recalling the dozen or so speeches she had to give each week. 

Until she’d been forced to take a break by being here, she’d not realized how close to a burn out she’d been. Balance. When she eventually got back into her regular routine, she’d have to do a better job finding balance between work and fun. She’d let work slowly creep up and take over, eating away at her social life until she’d barely made time for her friends over the last year or two.

Now, looking back, she saw how lonely she’d been. Or maybe she was noticing now because of Remus. She wanted more days like this. The two of them reading companionably, swapping stories, playing games, laughing, teasing. It was better than any date she’d even been on.

“I wonder if I could guess your career,” he mused, speculating after the comment she made. She wondered if he actually could guess it correctly. He knew enough about her passions and her teenage ambitions that he probably could. “But then I’d always have to wonder since you can’t tell me.”

“Why don’t you tell me instead what you’d be doing? If there wasn’t a war, and your options were limitless,” she suggested.

Swallowing visibly, Remus slowly said, “I’d be a writer.” 

“Truly?”

“I’ve penned several novels, but no publisher will touch them because of my condition,” he said frankly. No bitterness coated the statement, only a tired acceptance. 

It infuriated Hermione that their society was so broken it had become ingrained in the brilliant man before her that he should never expect to be treated fairly. No one should ever experience so much prejudiced treatment that they became numb to it, and utterly unsurprised when it happened. 

That was at the root of the problem. It happened so frequently, that no one questioned whether it should be happening at all!

Remus had already heard her thoughts on this several times in the last month, and right now was about him, not her, so she smothered her righteous anger on his behalf, and instead calmly asked, “Have you considered using a pseudonym? Or asking a friend --”

“Sirius isn’t in a better position to get them published. And I don’t even know if they’re any good,” he said almost bashfully. Judging by the red hue cresting the tops of his ears, just barely visible peeking out beneath his shaggy blond hair, he was second guessing his ability.

“I could take a look,” Hermione offered, deeply intrigued to know what short of story he’d come up with. “If you’d like,” she added, not wanting him to feel obligated to share if he was too self-conscious about it.

“They’re not really your usual sort,” he warned, glancing at the stack of books she’d gathered to browse earlier in the day when Remus had nodded off for a while, catching up on the rest he’d missed due to the moon.

“What are they about?”

“Fiction. Boyhood adventures. Friendship. Magic. And a great deal of mischief disguised as bravery,” he confessed. A far away look slipped over his face and Hermione knew they were based on his years at Hogwarts and his time as a Marauder. 

“I’ve always thought that was one area the wizarding world was lacking. Muggles have a better selection, so I tend to stick to their classics,” Hermione said, almost challenging him to disagree with her. 

If it weren’t for the sheer amount of diverse subjects, all brand new, for her to learn about when she’d first arrived at Hogwarts, the fact would have depressed her. The literature from her local library was what she’d been most homesick for before her friendship with Harry and Ron.

“Who is your favorite author?”

“Victor Hugo,” she rattled off immediately.

“ _Les Miserables_ ,” he noted, smiling faintly.

“And _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ \-- it was my favorite as a child,” she shared, wondering if she could get her hands on a copy. It’d been years since she reread it. Getting to now would be like reuniting with an old friend. A comfort in her current situation.

“I admit I’m a fan myself. What about his writing speaks to you?”

“I love that he didn’t shy away from political and social issues, instead used them as inspiration to enlighten people,” she said, again regretful that no such outlet existed in the wizarding world. 

Muggles had books and television. Famous celebrities that impressionable youth took their cues from. The wizarding world had the Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless Network. But aside from when Lee ran Potterwatch, and the occasional article in the Quibbler, the wizarding world didn’t acknowledge the social injustices occurring daily. 

“And your favorite author?” she asked, determined to keep the conversation from turning dark. 

They’d spent five hours only two weeks earlier getting into it, and while it had been nice to discuss everything with someone who could keep up with her and was equally knowledgeable, her current status as the ghost of Grimmauld Place meant she was unable to act on anything, and would only serve to leave her agitated and resentful. Besides, Remus agreed with nearly all she had to say on the matters, so she wasn’t forced to fight a neverending uphill battle when they spoke the way she typically had to. It was much less exhausting and aggravating to talk to him than it was to the average wizard. 

“Alexandre Dumas,” he confessed. She should have known.

Dumas was a French contemporary of Hugo’s. And by all accounts, the two had a notable rivalry and fraught relationship all their lives. Frienimes. Funny how their tastes overlapped yet varied just enough to keep things interesting.

“I particularly enjoyed _The Count of Monte Cristo_ , but if I had to hazard a guess, _The Three Muskateers_ is your favorite,” Hermione speculated, daring him to tell her differently.

“Yes. It reminds me of my own adventures. My stories are heavily influenced by his works,” Remus agreed, nodding delightedly that she’d read him so aptly.

“Now I really can’t wait to read them,” Hermione said eagerly. They’d be a welcome diversion, and wonderfully entertaining. She couldn’t imagine him not being a talented writer when he was even better at storytelling than she was.

“I’ll bring them to--”

Sounds of shouting and banging carried from below. Echoes of the heated debate shattered the illusion that it was just the two of them, and that the outside world had ceased to exist. News of the Dementor attack on Privet Drive and Harry’s subsequent expulsion must have finally reached the residents of Grimmauld Place.

“What in the world?” Remus asked dully, standing and looking from the door to her uncomprehendingly.

“Please keep in mind that I had my reasons for keeping this to myself,” Hermione said flatly. An angry shout, louder than the rest filled the house. Sirius. More urgently, Hermione warned, “You need to go keep Sirius from overreacting.” 

Hermione remained in the library, knowing the two men would confront her as soon as they were able. Memories of witnessing Albus’s fury for herself this night ran through her head even as it was happening downstairs. He’d been terrifying, truly scary, and Hermione had almost pitied the Death Eaters foolish enough to make an enemy of the great Albus Dumbledore. 

At one point Crookshanks joined her, nestling into her lap and purring loudly. It had been years since her half-kneazle died, and she’d missed him so terribly that she’d been unable to bear the thought of getting a replacement. Same as Harry still hadn’t gotten a replacement for Hedwig, making due with Ginny’s owl instead.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Sirius stormed into the room, Remus following a half step behind. He’d barely had a chance to seal and silence the door before Sirius shouted, “Why did you not warn us?”

His loud yelling startled Crookshanks, who leapt off her lap and disappeared behind a bookcase, bottle-brush tail waving jauntily as he went.

“Do you really think two Dementors could defeat Harry?” she asked patiently, giving them a pointed look. Surely they thought more of James’s son than that! Remus taught Harry himself, and he’d been through much worse.

“Of course not,” Sirius scoffed.

“Then why would I have messed with time over something I knew was insignificant in the long run?” she asked calmly, rationally explaining her position. It wasn’t long before logic had woven around the impetuous man, and reason returned. Sirius deflated like so much air from a balloon, and slumped into the chair Remus had recently vacated. “When, or if, I do, it will be for a much better reason.”

No one spoke for some time, but Hermione and Remus exchanged worried looks. Abruptly, Sirius rose and shoved the chair, toppling it. “I have to write to Harry,” he muttered, stalking from the room.

“You want to change things,” Remus said quietly.

“I’ve been considering it,” Hermione breathed, hardly daring to voice the taboo subject.

“You’re still undecided?” Remus asked, but Hermione heard his skepticism.

“What if I make things worse?” Hermione asked, giving voice to the fear that had been plaguing her since she first found the dark book and decided to do something about it. Things could go so wrong. Or worse, she could try, but fail anyways. Some things were simply meant to happen. Written into the fabric of time, etched in stone.

“You never struck me as the type to sit back and watch when the people you cared about were in trouble,” Remus said, using his wand to right the chair Sirius had taken his anger out on.

“No, I’m really not,” Hermione agreed, sighing loudly. The weight balancing precariously on her shoulders shifted as additional heft was added to it. Currently it was teetering, threatening to topple.

Remus moved to kneel before the chair she sat in, tilting his head to catch her eye. “Then I guess what it really comes down to… is what choices can you live with?”

“And if I have to pick and choose? Do I really have that right?” 

Remus took her hands, squeezing them gently with his own much warmer ones. A jolt of awareness rushed through her, causing her to shiver at the touch. Hermione studied his fingers. His skin was even more fair than her own, but marked with countless white lines and ridges of scar tissue. They were faint, difficult to see unless he was exerting pressure as he currently was to make them stand out in contrast.

“We’re at war, Hermione. If you managed to spare even a single life… that would, no doubt, be a precious gift,” he said softly, waiting for her to look up and meet his intense gaze before he continued. “And if you choose to do nothing -- to protect the future you know, and the peace I know you’ve found -- I would never blame you.” 

He wouldn’t blame her. Even though he’d already figured out that the last of his friends would die. There really weren’t words to express the goodness of the man kneeling before her. The absence of pressure from him was liberating. Yet at the same time, it compelled her to act.

Sensing the troubled battle she was waging with herself over whether or not to alter her past, he left her alone with her thoughts. She had much to think over.

~

It was two days later when she saw Remus again. This time in her room, just before dawn when he ducked in to deliver his promised manuscript.

“Remus? What is it? Why --” she began, sitting up in bed and looking about in alarm. His entrance had startled her abruptly awake.

“You were already asleep when I got in last night, but I wanted to drop this off before I left,” he said shyly, glancing around at her spartan room. It wasn’t as though she had any possessions to decorate with.

Though as she noted the four knee-high piles of assorted books that had migrated from the library, she wondered if it might not have been easier to simply relocate her bed into that room and barricade herself in there.

“Your book!” Hermione gasped, suddenly seeing the bound stack of parchment he held partially concealed behind his leg.

She leaned forward across the distance separating them to accept the offered gift, but Remus didn’t immediately release his hold, moving with it as she tugged it towards her. The end result was Remus sitting on the bed beside her.

“Be gentle,” he requested, eyes flicking unconsciously to the exposed swells of her breasts revealed by the thin blue camisole she wore to sleep in. “It’s my first time… “

Hermione’s breath caught at his words, thrown by the innuendo in the statement. The fingers of the hand still gripping the pages deliberately brushed over hers. 

“Allowing another to read it, that is,” he clarified, chuckling deeply.

Her hand flew out to swat his shoulder, shaking her head at his unexpected, blatant flirting. It was the sort of line she’d heard George use on witches over the years. He’d never settled down after the war. Never even dated. Fred’s death had done a number on him. Hermione suspected he felt too guilty being happy when his twin couldn’t. 

Everyone had thought for a while that something might be going on between him and Fred’s ex-girlfriend, Angelina Johnson, considering she was the only reason he ever even left the Burrow those first couple months. And it made a sort of sense, the two sharing the loss equally -- if for vastly different reasons. But it’d turned out she’d been hooking up with Lee Jordan in the aftermath of the war, and the two had gotten married when she ended up pregnant about four months after the Battle of Hogwarts. 

Hermione cursed herself for reading too much into the playful banter. It had been a long time, over a year in fact, since she’d been intimate with anyone, and it was impossible for her not to react to the provocative teasing.

“What did you think I was referring to?” Remus asked, all mock innocence. He pretended to look scandalized. “Hermione! What an unexpectedly dirty mind you have!”

“Payback. There will be a retaliation for that,” she promised, shaking her head at him and fighting her answering smile. He seemed so much younger just then. Not the war-weary werewolf, beat down by the multitude of hardships he’d been forced to endure that she remembered from her youth. Was she responsible, at least in part, for the hopeful, almost carefree man she saw now?

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said challengingly, though it was a brittle facade. Thin as an eggshell, and just as fragile. A stark vulnerability underlain the brave words, shining through the paper-thin barrier.

Hermione sensed he was extremely unpracticed at this sort of thing, and had surprised himself with the attempt now. 

A flush stole over his face, and his gaze trekked back down to her displayed cleavage. Hermione fought the urge to tug the covers up to conceal the mounds. She was a grown woman in the privacy of her room. There was nothing amiss with what she was wearing, and it was gratifying to see his desirous reaction to the sight of her body. 

“What an unexpectedly wicked sense of humor you have,” she commented wryly, laughing in genuine amusement. 

A shadow passed over his face, momentarily darkening his features. It was then that she realized he was more focused on what was displayed on her skin than he was on the amount showing. Hermione watched his eyes trace the length of the long, puckered ridges of the scar across her chest before noting the various wrinkled burns on arms. Finally, they stopped on the cursed marks on her arm, the wound spelling out Mudblood still as angry and fresh as the day Bellatrix had carved it.

She didn’t try to hide any of it. The scars were a part of who she was. A survivor. 

The teasing had vanished, replaced with undisguised interest and a different sort of appreciation. Boldly, Hermione met his stare. In the pristine blue depths of his eyes, she saw respect and a mutual understanding of a past filled with painful events indelibly written on their skin. 

It was obvious that he seemed encouraged by her reactions that morning, because he suddenly blurted, “Are you with Ron?” He hesitated, then added, “In the future.”

“No,” she answered quietly. 

The sense of fire surrounded her, almost as though she were ringed in the licking tongues of heat, playing with the deadly, flickering flames. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, coursing thickly until it filled her, leaving her daring and fearless. 

“Sirius was right,” Remus murmured, reaching up to catch a lock of her hair. He rubbed two fingers over it, likely surprised by how much softer it felt given its usual wiry appearance. “He told me to just ask you, and he already suspected you weren’t with him.”

“I wasn’t with anyone,” Hermione confirmed. Anticipation weighed heavily on her chest, making breathing difficult. 

His eyes raked over her again. Resolution formed, clear in the set of his shoulders and the angle of his head. Determination and cautious hope. That’s what she saw as she took him in, in turn.

“We’re both unattached adults, Hermione. There’s a sort of freedom in the interactions that allows, and the possibilities that are open to explore,” Remus said, betraying the truth of his interest. This time it wasn’t a teasing jest. 

“I never considered that,” she admitted frankly. It had been hard enough lately simply adjusting to being trapped in the wrong place and time. But she couldn’t deny being attracted to him -- both physically and emotionally. And they were both consenting adults. 

He hesitated, uncertainty and fear inching their way over his face once again. Hermione watched him visibly swallow, steeling himself before he added, “And you, more than anyone I’ve ever met, understand what it would mean to tie yourself to a werewolf should you also wish for this to develop into a true relationship.” 

“Yes, I do. Though you must know that would never matter to me,” Hermione said fiercely. No amount of social backlash would ever prevent her from being true to herself. It’d never stopped her in the past, so why would it when it came to her heart, and her happiness?

“You are more remarkable than you know. More rare too,” he said wonderingly, gazing at her like so many precious gems.

“Remus --”

“I should be going, but I’ll leave you to think on that,” Remus said, seeming to have used up his courage with his admittance. 

“See you tonight?” Hermione asked, then given the content of their conversation, clarified, “To talk about your book.”

“Until tonight,” he agreed, slipping out as stealthily as he’d arrived. 

~

Remus’s book was extraordinary! Hermione had laughed so hard tears formed in her eyes several times. It was obvious that he’d poured his heart and soul into it. The emotional connection behind the wild tales clearly conveyed on each and every page.

She’d not even put it down long enough to eat the lunch Sirius had brought to her. He’d not stuck around after dropping it off, still angry with her for not telling him the outcome of Harry’s upcoming trial. Honestly, she already had when she’d told him nothing too terrible happened to Harry this summer, but that wasn’t enough for Sirius. He desired definitive answers.

“What’s wrong with your hands?” Remus asked when he joined her that evening, eager to hear her thoughts.

“Nevermind that now,” Hermione said impatiently, waving his concerns away. “Did James really get into the girl’s dormitory by flying over the slide?” she demanded. 

She’d not realized there was a way around the charms in place on the girls’ dormitory, but after reading about what James had once done in a desperate attempt to gain Lily’s notice, it seemed an oversight on Dumbledore’s part. Or perhaps he’d just never imagined encountering James Potter’s stubborn determination to win Lily Evans’s heart.

“What makes you think it was James and not Sirius?” Remus asked lightly, amused or possibly even gratified by her invested response to his story.

“Because Sirius has never been that lovesick over a girl,” Hermione replied at once. 

“Well James did, but it didn’t end up quite the way I wrote it,” Remus admitted.

“Well? What really happened then?” Hermione asked, eager to hear the real story, and not how the boy’s efforts were rewarded with a kiss.

“Lily pushed him down the slide, and told him to keep out. Then, while he was a heap at the bottom, she hexed him good and proper so he’d not forget how serious she was about it,” Remus confessed, lips pressed together to hold back his amused grin. “He tried again a week later despite that, and kept trying each week up until graduation. She did the same thing every time -- even after they got together in seventh year.”

“Unbelievable! I can’t believe Professor McGonagall didn’t put a stop to things,” Hermione laughed, shaking her head in amazement.

“What makes you think she didn’t try? There was a reason we were in detention at least once a week,” Remus admitted lightly, a far away look on his face.

It slowly faded as he refocused on the numerous cuts decorating her hands.

Catching sight of his shifted gaze, Hermione explained, “My younger self isn’t replying to Harry, so Hedwig started in on me looking to provide answers for her owner.”

“Poor thing must be confused having two of you here,” he stated softly, lifting her hand to more closely inspect the cuts. She’d gotten tired of healing them only to have Hedwig return shortly after the inflict fresh wounds. 

Hermione swallowed at the sensations ignited by the scraping of his rough hands against her own. They were so unexpectedly warm. And she enjoyed his touch entirely too much. A nagging at the back of her mind cautioned her to be careful, but she studiously ignored it.

“She’d just worried about Harry,” Hermione said softly, watching their clasped hands. “You’re going with tomorrow to get him,” she added absently, trying to distract herself.

“He’ll be fine,” Remus promised, assuming she was worried about her friend.

“I know. You all will,” she agreed, sharing more than she should, but too flustered to stop herself.

“I love the confidence,” he said jokingly, but with heavy appreciation underlying the words. Her inadvertent slip made it easier for him to breathe knowing the process of transporting Harry to headquarters would go over without a hitch.

Remus threaded his fingers through hers, entwining them as he stepped closer. He scanned her face searching to be sure his advance was welcome. He appeared so incredibly young. So innocent. Disbelief radiated, so many blades piercing her with the significance of this opportunity he apparently hadn’t dared wish for himself. She wanted it just as much, never having expected to find herself within reach of someone so perfect.

“This morning you said…”

“That we could explore,” he agreed, inching even nearer before he finished, “us.”

“Yes,” Hermione breathed, searching his eyes. 

“I haven’t really done this before. I couldn’t. I didn’t think so, at least. And before you, I hadn’t met anyone worth taking the risk,” Remus confessed, self-recriminations and doubt pinching his face.

“I --”

“Remus, Mad-Eye sent…” Sirius began, coming into the room. He broke off at the sight of Hermione and Remus standing less than a foot apart. “Am I interrupting?”

“Yes, Padfoot, you are,” Remus growled.

“Yeah, well, pick this up again later. Mad-Eye wants to go over the plan to move Harry. That’s a bit more important than you two getting frisky with kids roaming about and Harry’s life on the line,” he said impatiently.

“We weren’t!” Hermione denied immediately, appalled that he’d imply they were doing something improper or not concerned enough about Harry’s welfare. 

“Sure you weren’t,” Sirius huffed dubiously. “Look, everyone’s here. Whole lot of ‘em showed up ready to volunteer to move Harry tomorrow. Everyone’s really excited,” he said, bouncing on his toes and using his head to signal Remus towards the door.

“I couldn’t tell,” Remus said dryly, sighing at the ill-timed interruption.

“Well, come on, Moony. Mad-Eye won’t start until you’re down there too. A familiar face for Harry to recognize and trust, and I want to hear this plan -- make sure it’s not got any holes,” Sirius instructed. Remus cast a miserable, disappointed look her way, but followed Sirius out without any further protest.

~

Crashes and bangs echoed up the stairs less than an hour later. The cacophonous symphony instigated Mrs. Black’s portrait screaming obsenities, followed by the combined efforts of Sirius and Molly to silence the vile hatred issuing from the canvas painting.

Hermione listened in wonder at the disturbance occurring on the floor below her. The twins must have been trying to spy on the meeting again and knocked over the troll umbrella stand while trying to avoid being caught. That’d happened during the first Order meeting after the Weasley’s arrived.

Remus quietly entered the library amidst the noise of the chaos happening below, and Hermione smiled in greeting as he joined her, eager to pick up where they’d left off.

“Do I want to know?” she asked, feeling her lips twitching as she did.

“Sirius’s cousin joined us tonight -- I escaped as soon as I could,” Remus said, mock shuttering.

“That bad?”

“She’s sweet enough, but a disaster. Molly is about to lose it, and between her and Sirius, I needed a breather,” Remus said conspiratorially.

“Tonks,” Hermione breathed, suddenly realizing exactly who the clumsy newcomer was. 

Remus’s future wife. The mother of his son. The woman he was supposed to be slowly falling in love with, or at least enough involved with to create a child. The woman that was decidedly not Hermione.

Hermione mentally flagulated herself. How could she have forgotten about Tonks? She’d let herself get swept up in Remus, and the excitement of his pursuit, his obvious interest. Interest that rivaled her own.

“You know her. Nymphadora. I forgot, of course you do,” Remus said lightly, not recognizing the silent battle waging within her. “Since we’re bringing Harry here tomorrow, she’s to be part of his guard. Kingsley vouched for her. Honestly, I’m amazed she made it through Auror training at all.”

“She’s actually rather remarkable. I think you’ll really like her,” Hermione said, false brightness making her sound wooden and fake.

Remus sensed the shift in her. At once he was studying her closely, trying to uncover what he’d missed. As if he could ever hope to understand the predicament Hermione had suddenly found herself stuck in the middle of.

“I’m sure I will. We need as many people as we can get to stand against Voldemort,” Remus said, frowning.

“I’m sorry, Remus, I’ve got a bit of a headache. I think I’m going to head to bed early, so don’t let me keep you from rejoining them,” Hermione said abruptly, standing and heading towards the door. 

She watched his brow wrinkle, hurt and confusion twisting his handsome features as she retreated towards the exit. Ultimately, they settled into a look betraying the rejection he felt. Hermione hated that she’d given him that impression, but Tonks’s arrival had changed everything. Reality a much needed slap in the face.

“No, I think I should head back to Harry, actually. Sirius is extremely concerned after the Dementors, so I might as well stay in Surrey until we move him tomorrow night,” Remus said, trying to mask his disappointment in her altered attitude.

Hermione wanted to protest. He’d already spent the whole day there. The moon hadn’t been that long ago, and he’d not fully recovered yet since he was constantly pushing himself, but she’d backed herself into a corner and couldn’t say a word.

Quickly, Hermione disillusioned herself and took the risk of being discovered to retire early to her bedroom and escape the temptation Remus’s presence presented.

There was much she needed to think about between Sirius’s upcoming demise, Remus’s relationship, and her own traitorous desires. She had to do something. Remus was right. She’d not be able to live with herself if she didn’t at least try. Even as she slumped onto her bed, a nascent idea began trickling through her mind.


	6. 6: Understanding

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

My Thanksgiving got canceled this year, as I’m assuming many of yours have been, so I stayed up all night writing this as a consolation gift for you. Happy Thanksgiving and I wish you all a safe and good holiday!

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 6: Understanding

August-September 1995

Grimmauld Place

Hermione sat bolt upright in bed, roughly shoving her tangled mass of frizzy hair away from her flushed face. Sweat beaded near her temples, dampening the strands until they stuck uncomfortably to her face, and her hand was shaking. Quickly, Hermione brought it to her chest, pressing the trembling appendage just above her racing heart. It was beating so fast, Hermione feared it’d attempt to escape its curved bone cage. 

The events of the evening had left her tossing and turning for hours before sleep finally found her, only for her dream to have her startling abruptly awake. Except that wasn’t quite right. It had been more of a memory than a dream. 

About a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had shown up at the Burrow looking for answers to go along with the supper he’d already planned to have with the family. Hermione, Ginny, and George had all been there when Harry questioned Molly about Remus and Tonks’s relationship.

Apparently, Teddy had been asking for his Mama and Dada, and that had sent Harry searching for more information about what they were like as a couple. Hermione understood his reasoning. She’d been on the receiving end of Teddy calling her Mama more than once. Strange that Ginny didn’t, considering she probably spent more time with Teddy than Hermione did, but she was always Aunnie Gin to the boy. He had been struggling with T sounds back then. 

The name slip was an unusual habit that Teddy had never really outgrown either. Every once in a while, he’d absently call her Mum, then his hair would turn red at the tips, and he’d blush a glowing scarlet before pretending it never happened. He’d even called her Mum once that last night when she’d been watching him at Harry’s. 

At first, Hermione hadn’t known what to make of it, nor did she know how to feel about it -- aside from uncomfortable. Kids had never been something she particularly longed for, and she hadn’t exactly planned on having any before she found herself trapped in the past, given her single status. But after a couple years, she’d grown used to the occasional slips and stopped noticing. Eventually, she’d felt almost honored that he’d looked to her to fill that gap in his life, and was secretly pleased about it.

That day at the Burrow, well over a decade ago, had been a revelation at the time. Hermione remembered the day clearly now, the whole thing coming back to her in a flash.

_“Did Remus love Tonks?” Harry asked without preamble, his troubled expression making his face look pinched as he took a seat at the table to watch Mrs. Weasley as she bustled about the kitchen preparing supper._

_“Harry! Why would you even ask such a question?” Mrs. Weasley gasped, flustered, as she nearly dropped the wand she was using to direct the potato peeler hovering over the sink. As it was, three of the potatoes went rocketing across the room to slam into a cabinet. With a simple, embarrassed flourish, Mrs. Weasley sent them sailing back into the sink. Little slashes of red painted the tops of her cheekbones._

_Ginny, still sweaty and filthy in her Holyhead Harpies training gear after having just arrived from practice, went to join her boyfriend, shooting him an inquiring look. Harry gave a tiny wince, and the two proceeded to engage in a silent conversation composed entirely of looks and gestures._

_Sometimes Hermione was still amazed at how in tune the two had become since the war ended. She’d always had to work to decipher Harry since he was so closed off usually, getting lucky in her deductive guesses a lot of the time. But Harry was more upfront and open with Ginny, and the two had developed a comfort and ease in sharing that was clearly visible, and made words unnecessary for them to communicate._

_Hermione glanced at George, wondering if he too was wondering where this topic had come from, and was startled to find him already watching her intently. It was the most alert Hermione had seen him since the war ended. Most of the time he wandered about the Burrow or sat in the orchard staring vacantly at the discarded apples littering the ground._

_George hadn’t coped well with losing Fred. More often than not he resembled one of the Hogwarts’s ghosts, ambling about the Burrow, trapped. Unable to rejoin the living or move forward with his life. Guilt and loneliness, twin anchors weighing him down._

_Rarely did he even venture to his shop these days. Hermione didn’t understand how it was still operating, but somehow it was. Thriving even. Fresh products found their way onto the shelves at regular intervals throughout the week, and occasionally a new product would make an appearance. The twins must have taken steps to keep their dream going in the event something happened to one or both of them. It was the only explanation._

_“Because one day I’m going to have to explain their relationship to Teddy, and I won’t lie to my godson. Sirius lied to me about my parents -- everyone did -- and when I discovered the truth, it hurt. I felt betrayed, because I deserved to know the truth. The whole truth. It was all I could get of the people I lost. I won’t put Teddy through the same, and I need to know the truth so I know how to go about explaining it to him in time,” Harry admitted to Mrs. Weasley’s alarmed expression._

_“Harry, you have to understand the circumstances,” Mrs. Weasley said pleadingly, wringing her hands and looking shiftily about like a rabbit ready to dart away._

_“Did he love her?” Harry pressed quietly, suspicions evident._

_“We were at war. Not one of us knew if we’d survive the day -- not even me, and I wasn’t fighting!” Mrs. Weasley said shrilly, obviously distressed by the topic of conversation. Hermione had to bite back a snort at the last. She was sure Bellatrix Lestrange would disagree over whether or not Mrs. Weasley fought in the war. The echo of the Weasley matriarch calling Bellatrix a bitch one of the highlights of her life -- particularly after the way the witch permanently disfigured Hermione’s arm._

_It had taken a while, but Mrs. Weasley had slowly stopped seeing Harry as a wayward, neglected child in need of her constant protection and mothering. Harry’s triumph in the final battle combined with his already numerous and notable accomplishments in the Auror department as well as the serious nature of his relationship with Ginny -- the two were practically living together now that Ginny had graduated -- had all helped Mrs. Weasley to begin treating Harry like an adult._

_“Your boggart,” Harry intoned sadly, sharing a commiserating look with Mrs. Weasley. Hermione remembered when that happened. They’d been having a party to celebrate her and Ron being named Prefects. She and Remus had been debating house-elf rights when he’d excused himself to go with Mad-Eye to check on Mrs. Weasley. Hermione had followed, curious to see what all the commotion was about. “You saw each of us dead, then asked Remus what would happen to your family if both you and Mr. Weasley died.”_

_“Yes. It was like that for all of us,” Mrs. Weasley said, tearing up as she gazed at George. A constant reminder of her loss. Hermione’s heart gave a painful jolt at the way he ducked his head, studiously avoiding looking at his mum._

_“Please,” Harry requested solemnly._

_“Tonks was so young -- one of the youngest in the Order, aside from Fred and George -- and Remus was extraordinarily brave and commanding. His actions must have turned her head, and I think she wanted to fall in love. To experience that before she died._

_“It was the same during the First Wizarding War. The possibility of impending death creates a sense of urgency. People latch onto any way they can feel alive. Couples form left and right because of the fear and adrenaline. But those relationships don’t always survive the normal day-to-day interactions that come after.” Mrs. Weasley sighed tiredly, briefly catching Hermione’s eye. Quickly, the older woman averted her gaze, reaching for a wooden spoon and giving the room her back._

_“It’s why I worried about Bill and Fleur rushing into things. He’s very like my brother, Gideon. Luckily, I was wrong about them at least. And I don’t know if Sirius ever told you about him and Marlene McKinnon. They took their cues from your parents, not wanting to miss out, but it was the situation. Not true, lasting love. Not the type to go the long haul,” Mrs. Weasley confessed, studiously stirring the pot on the stove to avoid looking at those gathered about._

_Hermione swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with the topic. She was supposed to be joining Ron for dinner, but he was running late, having stayed behind at the Ministry for some reason or another. Yet somehow Harry had managed to leave off Auror training the second he was able to in his haste to be with Ginny. He couldn’t even wait for her to shower and change before going to her when she’d arrived some ten minutes ago._

_It was something she and Ron had both started doing more of lately, finding excuses not to spend any more time together than they had to. They hadn’t had a real date, just the two of them, in over three months, and Ron hadn’t spent the night at her flat in at least a month. They hadn’t even kissed in weeks. Finding things they could do together now that they no longer had homework to complete or Horcruxes to hunt was getting more and more difficult._

_Mrs. Weasley may have named other couples as examples, but Hermione had the distinct impression her words had been aimed her way. Was that what was happening? They’d fallen in love because of the danger they were regularly facing, and both desired that rush of happiness to counter the hardship? Had she gotten swept up in her hormones? Possibly even misidentified them? And now, without that steady release, reality was setting in and a happy ending wasn’t a forgone conclusion. She didn’t like considering that, but it was hard not to._

_“The pregnancy,” George inserted, startling everyone with the rare contribution. He looked ready to say more, but after a second, his lips pressed tightly together to form a thin line._

_“Do you mean they only married because of Teddy?” Ginny asked, shocked and dismayed. She, more than Hermione, had been close to Tonks. The two had bonded immediately, and spent time together while Hermione had been on the run with Harry._

_Hermione had already suspected that was the case. She only had a couple memories of Remus and Tonks even talking, let alone any insight on the inner workings of their relationship, but it fit with what she did know. The only real instance she’d even seen of them together had been in the hospital wing right after Bill was attacked and Dumbledore was killed. Remus had been resisting Tonks’s pursuit, offering multiple excuses in an effort to politely turn her down. Which, according to Harry, he had been doing for at least a year at that point. And he’d not seemed particularly pleased to have been put on the spot over it as he’d been that day._

_Tonks had gotten pregnant less than a month after that, and though they’d said they got married, it had been a Muggle ceremony that no one was invited to -- not even Mrs. Weasley, Kingsley, or Bill. That had struck her as odd at the time. Even if they were worried about Bellatrix, they’d have at least invited a few friends if it was really a celebration of their love. A shot-gun wedding brought on by an unplanned pregnancy seemed more probable._

_“Remus was honorable. He wanted to do right by her,” Mrs. Weasley said, her opinion obvious from the clipped words and pursed lips._

_“That’s why he was so willing to take off on her,” Harry said dryly, then immediately winced, regretting speaking ill of the dead -- particularly when it involved someone he admired._

_“Harry!” Mrs. Weasley scolded, rounding on him with her wooden spoon raised. She brandished the utensil as if threatening to hex him with it._

_“He was far more concerned about what Hermione, Ron and I were getting up to than he was about being with her and protecting her. Or even his kid for that matter,” Harry stated frankly, defending his statement even if he obviously wished he’d said it a bit more delicately._

_“He knew she’d be looked after,” George said dully._

_Harry blinked, looking to Hermione for an explanation as he’d so often done in the past, but she was as baffled as he was._

_“What do you mean?” Ginny finally asked, giving voice to the question on everyone’s mind._

_George, looking far more animated and engaged in the conversation than Hermione could remember seeing since before Fred’s death, said, “He was worried… Never mind. It’s nothing. You wouldn’t understand.”_

_“I’m going to need a bit more than that after your comment, Mate,” Harry said lightly, gently pushing him to open up -- a rare occurrence anymore. Everyone treaded carefully with George, never knowing what would send him back into the near comatose state he primarily existed in these days._

_“Just... he knew Tonks was being looked after, so he wanted to make sure you lot,” he said meaningfully, tipping his head at them as he continued, “stayed safe since you had the more dangerous job at the time.”_

_Looks were exchanged, and it was clear Harry wanted to ask more, but Mrs. Weasley took over before Harry could interrogate George further, saying definitively, “Remus cared about Tonks, and I’m sure she fancied him.”_

_“You mean they’d have split after the war ended, despite Teddy,” Harry sighed, disappointed to have been correct in his assessment of things. The idea of Remus and Tonks was suddenly tarnished, the glow faded, replaced with a dull, blackened sheen._

_Mrs. Weasley looked uncomfortable, but she reiterated, “Some relationships simply aren’t meant to endure beyond times of hardship and war.” After a beat, she finished, “Or altered circumstances… No matter how much they care for one another.”_

_“If things had worked out differently, they may have eventually found love with other people,” Ginny acknowledged, voice hoarse with unshed tears. “The real kind.” Harry’s arm wrapped around Gin, pulling her against him, and she buried her face in his neck, accepting the comfort he offered._

_Hermione’s own eyes burned. So many lives destroyed. So many unrealized futures. And all because a few people felt they were better than everyone else and sought power. War --_

_“Excuse me,” George muttered, breaking into her thoughts as he stood abruptly and stalked from the room. Hermione worried that this had reminded him that Fred’s girlfriend had recently married and was expecting a child -- one that wasn’t Fred’s, and never could be._

_“George!” Mrs. Weasley called, hurrying after him._

_“I’m just going to check on the shop. Promise I’m fine, Mum,” he stated firmly._

_Everyone lapsed into silence after George’s departure, each contemplating what they’d learned as Mrs. Weasley resumed supper preparations with a little help from Hermione, and Harry comforted Ginny by lightly stroking her hair, using his fingers to work out the knots from her earlier flying session. The quiet was interrupted when Ron arrived some thirty minutes later._

_“Still suited up? Fancy a game then?” Ron asked, catching sight of Ginny first. When he noted Hermione, he paused in the process of unclasping his work robes. “Er, you don’t mind, do you?”_

_“Not at all. Go. Enjoy the nice evening,” Hermione said truthfully. Heavy thoughts were weighing her down too much for the lighthearted banter Ron would no doubt attempt if he stuck around inside with her._

_“Brilliant!” he cheered, dragging Harry and Ginny out to the orchard with him._

_Hermione moved to set the table, seeking a mindless task to occupy her hands. “You know I’ll always consider you a daughter,” Mrs. Weasley said quietly, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind Hermione’s ear. “And I think it’s about time you and Harry start calling me Molly. You’re all grown now.”_

_The meaning behind the kind words was unmistakable, but Hermione spent the rest of the evening reluctant to acknowledge the accuracy of Mrs. Weasley -- Molly’s concerns._

Hermione hadn’t thought of that day in years. Nearly a decade at least. Harry had taken responsibility for how much to tell Teddy, and he’d always been up front with his godson -- that honesty a part of why the two were so close. And because Harry had handled things, there’d been no need to remember what she’d learned before now. Yet in the span of a single evening, it had taken on a whole new meaning. There was so much to unwrap. 

She could freely admit that she’d come to desire Remus as much as he did her. Under different circumstances, she’d not hesitate to pursue a relationship with him. She truly believed they’d be happy together. It’d be so easy to fall in love with him. Already, she halfway was. 

But did she have that right? Could she be responsible for eliminating Teddy’s existence if things between them did work out?

The answer was an unqualified, resounding, no.

The boy meant too much to her. She loved him. He was her family.

That was that then. 

It hurt so much more than she expected. Worse, she couldn’t even hope to be with him one day after things with Tonks didn’t work out, assuming everyone’s predictions were accurate, because he’d be dead by then.

Remus was going to die in less than three years. And Hermione was going to have to watch it happen. Watch as the first man to ever challenge her intellectually was unfairly taken from the world -- from his son. And she still wasn’t sure what she could do about that. Because he’d died in battle and she couldn’t see a way to alter the outcome without being seen. Not that she didn’t plan to figure out a way to try, she’d decided that much at least, but it seemed impossible.

For the first time in years, Hermione felt confident that she’d met someone that could be her partner. Remus was brave, brilliant, wildly attractive, kind, and funny. More, he made her have fun. Even while in this impossible situation. He respected and valued her, but was capable and confident enough to stand beside her. She didn’t overshadow him. He didn’t resent her passions. He shared her moral views. They were perfectly matched.

And unlike his relationship with Tonks, Remus was the one pursuing her. He’d made his interest known, and there wasn’t a bit of resistance or reluctance about it. 

Unfortunately, some things weren’t meant to be.

~

Most of the Order had already left to retrieve Harry, and Albus had the remaining occupants of number twelve Grimmauld Place in the kitchen while he laid out his expectations of what they could and could not share with Harry. Hermione took the opportunity to sneak into the drawing room while everyone was busy.

Severus found her there, staring at the cursed locket not five minutes later. The vile object drawing her back again and again as she contemplated all the various impacts such an inconsequential piece of metal had. 

“A peculiar choice if you’ve suddenly taken to adorning yourself with jewelry,” Severus drawled lazily. 

“You don’t think the color suits me?” Hermione asked idly, intrigued by his appearance. She’d not expected a visit from him prior to the Order meeting.

“Decidedly not,” he said with undisguised humor. His low, deep voice nearly betrayed a laugh as he added, “Far too ostentatious for the likes of you.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she declared, earning herself a derisive snort from the dark wizard.

He glanced at the locket again, a tiny crease forming between his eyes before the skin smoothed, and he apparently wisely decided not to probe any further. Shifting, Severus finally said, “The potion will be ready for the next phase in two days. I will come early so you are not seen.”

“Thank you. I’ll look forward to working with you again,” Hermione said eagerly.

“The next stage is the most grueling of the process,” he warned, explaining, “because of the aconite. If not prepared properly, it will render the brew lethal. I will also bring additional ingredients for you to have on hand for your future attempts. Since you can’t obtain them yourself as of now.”

“You trust me to make it on my own after this?” Hermione asked, surprised. She’d expected him to assist her with it the first couple months before he declared her work competent enough to be ingested without unwanted side effects.

“You will, no doubt, do just fine,” Severus said off-handedly, pressing his lips together to form a grim line.

“I appreciate the confidence,” Hermione said, standing straighter. 

Severus, seeming to only just realize how his words had been received, scowled at her. Gruffly, he insisted, “Do not look to me for praise of your efforts. You are more than aware of your skill, and should not need for me to say so to believe it. Your worth is not dependent on others.”

Instantly, he looked as though he regretted saying as much. It was the kindest thing he’d ever said to her, ino less so in spite of the delivery. But he did have a valid point.

“What is your report about tonight?” Hermione asked, deliberately changing the subject to alleviate his obvious discomfort. Shock crossed his face at the question. “I remember that you were giving one from when I was younger. It was highly anticipated.”

“It’s regarding the Dark Lord’s plans to obtain the prophecy. He believes he’s found a way in,” Severus revealed. What had he tried? Hermione thought back, then remembered, the Imperius Curse. He’d used it on Sturgis Podmore.

Tension leaked from Severus. Thick and solid, filling the room and pressing heavily against her. The tight lines of his rigid stance set her on edge. Protective layers of practiced indifference settled about him as he waited. Waited for the blame he expected her to hurl at him for his part in alerting Voldemort to the existence of the prophecy and the events the act set in motion.

But she knew he’d already beat himself up over his youthful, misguided actions. In fact, he’d dedicated his life to atoning for his mistakes.

So instead of making him feel even worse by acknowledging his role, she said, “It’s still difficult to believe Trelawney was the one to make it. She’s...”

Visibly relaxing, Severus took her cue, sneering, “Try being forced to work with her regularly.”

“An unimaginable fate,” Hermione joked, mock shuttering.

Voices could be heard in the hallway, Ron, Hermione and Ginny’s specifically as they walked past the drawing room.

“I must be going,” Severus said, dipping his head briefly in farwell before departing, careful to slip out and shut the door behind him in such a way that curious eyes would be unable to peek in.

It occurred to her as she watched his stealthy exit that he’d deliberately stopped in to say hello to her. From what she could remember, Severus was always the last to arrive and first to leave. Not to mention, completely averse to socializing for any reason. The very idea of willfully engaging in idle chit chat was akin to being roasted over flowing lava.

Perhaps he was open to the idea of them becoming friends, after all.

“What was he doing in there?” Ron demanded loudly, suspicion branding his words like a declaration of war.

“ _Colloportus_ ,” Hermione hastily whispered, locking the door to the room.

“I’m sure it’s none of our business. Come on, Ron,” Hermione’s younger self said, disapproval coating her words. She could picture herself standing in the hall, frowning as Ron audibly provoked their professor with his blatant disrespect.

“You’re not even curious?” he gasped, disbelievingly.

“Damn. It’s locked,” Ginny grumbled, trying the knob. The sound of scratching and metal scraping penetrated the door. Ginny was obviously trying to pick the lock.

Immediately, Hermione whispered, “ _Epoximise_ ,” to make it stick.

“Well?” Ron asked impatiently.

“Won’t budge,” Ginny sighed.

“You mean the git sealed it shut? But why?”

“Just leave it, Ron. Let’s get upstairs before your mum catches us and thinks we’re up to something. Besides, I want to take a look at that book Sirius gave me before Harry gets here,” the younger Hermione begged.

Shaking her head at Ron’s persistence in believing Severus was up to something, Hermione settled into one of the worn emerald armchairs to wait, the threadbare arms only slightly digging into her. It wasn’t the first time she’d been unexpectedly trapped in a room for an unknown period of time in the last two weeks, and it probably wouldn’t be the last time this year either. At least she’d begun always carrying a book on her now for this very reason.

It wasn’t long before the sound of Harry’s angry yells echoed through the house. His fury and temper really had been rather formidable when he’d first arrived.

Funny, considering nothing riled him up anymore. Not even Jamie’s craziest stunts or misadventures angered Harry. He was far too happy ordinarily.

The door sprung open during a particularly loud bit in which Harry was going on about all the dangerous things he’d taken part in, but she relaxed when she saw it was only Severus returning.

“You expect me to believe our fates are in the hands of the immature, over-emotion brat currently throwing a temper-tantrum?”

“Did you really leave the meeting just so you could insult Harry without getting cursed for doing it?” Hermione asked, amused that he’d sought her, Harry’s best mate, out to whine about what he was getting up to. 

Severus scowled at her, but didn’t deny the summation.

“Potter’s fit disrupted it, and it was decided that it might be prudent to wrap up quickly. It’s nearly over now,” he said, glaring at the wall in the direction Harry’s voice could be heard coming from.

“You’re sticking around for supper with the Weasleys?” Hermione asked innocently, pretending to misunderstand why he was lingering.

Disgust twisted his expression at the very idea. “No.” The clipped word was barely out before he was practically fleeing from the room with his black robes billowing out around his rapidly departing form like wings.

~

“I took your advice,” Sirius announced, joining her later that night in the drawing room where she was still hiding out. 

He handed over the plate of food as soon as he entered, a bowl of stew balanced precariously on one side of it. The fork and knife clattered loudly against the fine china dish, but Sirius paid it no mind. Probably he actually hoped the Black dishes would shatter so he’d have a legitimate excuse to discard the serviceable kitchenware.

“I wasn’t aware I’d given you any,” Hermione said lightly, digging into the stew and rhubarb crumble and custard Molly had prepared. 

“About Harry,” Sirius reminded her. 

“I’m going to need a bit more to go on than that,” Hermione said, feeling a smile tugging on the corner of her mouth before she took another bite of the hearty stew. 

“About keeping him in the dark,” he said pointedly. 

“Ah,” she breathed, remembering her first day and the conversation they’d had with Dumbledore. 

“Moony and I decided to tell him everything. He needs to know, so he doesn’t go rushing off searching for answers on his own. But he started talking about wanting to fight, and…” Sirius trailed off, and Hermione could clearly see how rattled he was by the idea. “Molly and Albus have valid points as well. He deserves to be a kid. To fall in love. Get into normal mischief. Earn a few detentions. That sort of thing,” Sirius concluded. 

If he only knew what those detentions would look like this year. That would not be part of his wish for Harry if he did. 

“I don’t think you need to worry about the last bit. He’ll get more than a few this year,” Hermione said drolly as Remus entered the drawing room too. She avoided glancing his way, focusing on Sirius instead as she took another bite of supper as an excuse to avoid looking his way. 

“Yeah?” Sirius intoned, grinning. Probably, he was imagining all sorts of wild scenarios for why — none even coming close to the real reason. 

“You’re a good father to Harry, Sirius. James would be proud,” Hermione announced unexpectedly. He really did want what was best for Harry, no matter what, and he was willing to listen to others to help him figure out what that entailed. Not that he always made the best decisions, but what parent did? 

Her words caused him to visibly choke up, and she averted her eyes, attempting to give him an illusion of privacy. Doing so made her aware of Remus’s attention riveted on her, which in turn reminded her of Tonks. Tonks with her funny noses and overzealous attempts to help Molly in the kitchen. Tonks, and Remus’s son.

A double-edged sword was poised over her head, ready to slice her no matter what she did. Wonderful. Just what she needed.

“Thank you,” Sirius said thickly. Seconds later, he detected the unmistakable tension between his two companions, and he hastily excused himself. “I want to spend all of tomorrow with Harry, so I best take myself off to bed... er, ‘night.”

“I’m not sure if you remember, but Molly had some choice things to say to Sirius regarding his care of Harry tonight. What you just said to him means more than you know,” Remus informed her quietly once he was certain his friend truly had gone to bed and wasn’t eavesdropping at the door.

“Molly means well, but she does occasionally overstep,” Hermione said knowingly.

Looking back, the only situation she could recall where Molly didn’t try to micromanage every detail, assuming she always knew best, was Hermione’s relationship with Ron. It had been so out of character for Molly, that Hermione had actually asked her about it once. Molly admitted that she’d hoped to be wrong about them working out, and if not, she’d worried that her interference would drive Hermione away for good after the couple split, and she hadn’t wanted that.

“I’ve never been so terrified as I was when Harry mentioned joining the Order,” Remus said frankly, redirecting her thoughts.

“He’s going to fight regardless,” Hermione warned him, though it shouldn’t be news. Not with the target Voldemort had placed on Harry’s back. He didn’t have the luxury of sitting out, even if he’d wanted to. Luckily, fighting seemed to be ingrained in him, so he’d been both ready and willing whenever it was necessary. “It’s who he is at his core. He can’t deny that part of himself that wants to stand up for what is right.”

“He’s still so young. He shouldn't have to face all of this,” Remus said wearily, letting his face fall heavily into his hands. 

“He already has,” Hermione said softly, wishing she had more comforting news to impart. Unfortunately, all she had was the truth. Harry was not unfamiliar with the burden he had to bear.

Remus sat upright once more, but his eyes locked onto her arm. Precisely where he’d seen the marks forever carved into her flesh, evidence of her words. A permanent brand to remind him. A roadmap documenting their trials since Hermione had been at Harry’s side nearly every step of the way. 

“I don’t want to see him hurt... or facing dangers before he has to. There’s no need to rush it. Not when I know it will come soon enough,” he finally said, tearing his eyes away to meet her own. Concern made the blue of his eyes deeper. Shards of ice that cleanly penetrated her heart.

“I understand,” she said simply.

There was nothing else to say. Not on that matter at least.

“Is there anything I can pick up for you while I’m out tomorrow?” Remus offered, trying to return to where they’d been the day before. Before Tonks joined the Order and Hermione remembered what was at stake.

“Oh, Remus, no. Don’t put yourself out on my account,” she said lightly, waving him off.

“I don’t mind, Hermione,” he said sincerely, heart on his sleeve. 

“I’m really fine,” she insisted more firmly.

Hurt and disappointment flashed across his face. Worse, he made no attempt to hide the sting her words caused. Hermione regretted causing it, but she did not know what else to do. It was necessary to rebuff him now in order to set him on the path she remembered. Especially in light of their conversation the morning prior.

“I see. Goodnight then,” he said, nodding farewell and leaving.

For the first time since arriving in the past, Hermione felt truly alone.


	7. 7: Secrets

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

Any dialogue you recognize is from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix._

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 7: Secrets

August-September 1995

Grimmauld Place

Hermione was camped out with Buckbeak again after nearly getting caught the day before in the library by none other than her younger self. Sirius had stopped her from entering by saying some of the books were too dangerous, and if there was something she wanted, he’d look for it for her. Hermione recalled when that had happened. She also remembered ignoring him, not really trusting his opinion on matters, to venture in at least once before returning to Hogwarts, so the library was no longer a valid option to hide out in until after everyone left the next week. 

The last couple weeks had been relatively uneventful. Since the tense conversation with Remus, she’d only seen him long enough to deliver his doses of Wolfsbane Potion. She regretted the distance that had cropped up between them, and wished it could be easily rectified. 

“We just need a few feathers. We’ll get in and get out before mum even notices we’re gone,” Fred insisted, the whisper coming unexpectedly to Hermione from just behind the chair she’d conjured. She froze, wondering if she’d imagined the voice she’d not heard clearly in so many years. 

“Assuming we don’t get attacked,” George muttered, stepping into view. 

He looked precisely as she remembered. Stockier than Ron with a peppering of cinnamon freckles dusting every inch of exposed skin. What’s more, he had two ears peeking out from beneath his short, strawberry blond hair. 

Then she was seeing two of him. A mirror copy shorted just short of running into his twin’s back. How long had it been since she’d seen them whole and together? Too long. The sight was finally the way it was meant to be.

“Can’t be that difficult to --”

Fred abruptly cut off as he blinked at her. Hermione was completely unprepared to handle the sight of Fred standing beside George, both whole and healthy, and most importantly, alive. Her thoughts lingered on that fact, beginning to repeat it in her head on a loop. 

The vision of Fred was different than seeing Albus, Remus, Sirius, or even Severus. He was still a kid, not an adult like the others. He’d not had the chance to live his life the same as they had. 

“You see her too, Fred?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, scanning her from head to foot. 

“Of course it would be the two of you. I should have known,” Hermione finally managed to eek out, voice shaking slightly. 

“Aging potion gone wrong?” George guessed, tapping his chin speculatively. 

“No need to hide out till it wears off. You’re not half bad middle-aged, Granger,” Fred rushed to assure her. 

“Middle-aged?” she asked drolly, raising a brow at the choice descriptor. Thirty was hardly ancient. 

“Er, well… “

“Don’t look at me! He said it,” George said immediately when she looked to him, heaping all the blame on his twin for the slip of the tongue. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” Hermione said, steel lacing her words and effectively puncturing their humor like so many sharpened knives. 

“Dumbledore knows you’re here, right?” George asked, more cautious than the man grinning beside him as though this was the most excellent prank he’d heard of in years. 

“You can ask him yourself, but he’ll probably erase your memory as a precaution,” Hermione warned, knowing he’d do that exact thing. 

The twins weren’t in the Order. In fact, they still had another year of school at this point. It would be too big a risk for Albus to allow the knowledge of her, with all her secrets, to potentially be leaked. 

“Best not risk it,” Fred decided, nodding. 

“Not like you could have gotten in without him,” George added, seeming to think that was enough to trust her. 

“I am serious. You can’t tell anyone,” Hermione commanded, layers of genuine fear and meaning texturing her statement. 

“We know how to keep a secret,” George promised, winking conspiratorially at her. 

“Not that we know what the secret is,” Fred prodded meaningfully, providing her with the opportunity to spill. 

“Time travel. I’m stuck here,” she said tiredly, summing everything up with those few simple words. Amazing how short the explanation was considering the weight and expanse the consequences encompassed. 

“Ouch,” George said sympathetically. 

“Rough,” Fred agreed, nodding. 

In an effort to avoid getting choked up, Hermione asked, “What are you wanting the feathers for?”

“The Fanged Frisbee,” Fred said grandly, gesturing widely with his hands as he spoke. 

“Won’t work. Try Alarte Ascendare for the levitation aspect and Alopias to transfigure the frisbee into having shark teeth,” she recommended, startling both so thoroughly that their jaws dropped in unison. 

“Clever,” Fred acknowledged, nodding as he contemplated what she’d suggested. 

“What gave you the transfiguration idea? We’ve been trying potions lately, but they’ve all been a bust,” George informed her, curious and likely wondering what other tips she might have for them. Or if it was worth risking a lecture should they mention one she disapproved of. 

“Viktor Krum. During the Triwizard Tournament. And I already know what you end up using,” Hermione said, smiling faintly. 

“My, haven’t you changed,” Fred teased, grinning merrily. 

“Just doing my part to ensure your sensational success,” Hermione said casually, not at all concerned with giving too much away. They deserved to know what a success they were destined to be, and she knew their determination would get them there regardless of what she said now. 

“Truly?” Fred asked, looking excitedly to George. 

“Harry may have funded you, but occasionally, I offer suggestions,” Hermione revealed, grateful to have two of her friends back, even if they were so incredibly young just then. Maybe they haven’t been too far off with the middle-aged comment. Their boundless enthusiasm left her feeling an aching weariness. As though the burden of living were heavy indeed. “In exchange for free products from your WonderWitch line,” she added, forcing herself to keep the conversation light and not surrender to the encroaching darkness hovering about. 

“Witch products! Now there’s a sure money maker if I ever heard it!” Fred exclaimed, Galleons flashing in his eyes as ideas began forming. 

Hermione, unable to stop herself, launched forward, throwing her arms around Fred in a fierce hug. He rocked back on his heels, staggering several steps in the wake of her unexpected move though luckily his Quidditch reflexes combined with his thickly muscled strength kept them from toppling over completely.

“Oi, all right there?” he asked, awkwardly patting her back even as Hermione buried her face against his shoulder. 

“Yes. Yes, I just miss everyone,” she gasped, swallowing back the burning tears trying to escape, though a few managed to escape and leave a damp patch on Fred’s shirt. 

“How long have you been here?” George asked, a wrinkle forming between his concerned sapphire eyes as he took her in more closely. The depths of her soul wrenched at the sight. Familiarity causing her eyes to water again. Ron’s eyes were the exact same shade, though he’d never really looked at her with that same level of tender worry. 

“Nearly two months,” she said. Two months out of the fifteen years she’d be trapped. No wonder Sirius was so all over the place. She’d very likely be the same by the end of this. 

“Let us know if you need anything,” George offered. “We’d be happy to help you.” 

“I expect you’ll have your hands full starting up your business this year,” Hermione said, excusing them from that responsibility, but keeping it in the back of her mind as she acknowledged their ability to come up with truly brilliant schemes. Several of which they even managed to execute seamlessly. 

“Too right,” Fred agreed, then added, “but the offer stands, Hermione. Let us know if there’s ever anything.”

~

“Why are you shutting Remus out?” Sirius demanded, cornering Hermione in the library about two weeks after Harry’s trial. He’d been getting testier with each passing day as September neared. The student-aged residents were set to return in two days.

“I’m not,” Hermione denied, averting her gaze as she closed the book she’d been reading.

“Don’t give me that! He’s been avoiding this place ever since you rejected him,” Sirius accused, approaching the chair she was seated in. He planted himself directly in front of her, caging her in. 

A trapped feeling came over her. Growing alarm spread through her veins as took in his prison tattoos and harsh grimace.

No wonder Sirius had been in a foul mood the last couple weeks. He was stuck in the house and unable to check on his absent friend with only Mundungus and Mrs. Weasley’s cleaning efforts to keep him entertained. And unfortunately, Harry was rather too preoccupied wrapped up with his own issues to take full advantage of this time he had with his godfather.

Sirius’s accusation wasn’t precisely true either. Since Harry no longer needed a guard looking after him, Albus had tasked Remus with trailing Macnair and Nott. He was particularly interested in learning what Macnair was up to since he’d returned from a trip abroad, and Albus was concerned that it had involved the giants since there was still no word from Hagrid, who had been with them as well.

“I didn’t reject him,” Hermione insisted, crossing her arms and glaring up at Sirius’s dark expression. Rejection implied she’d had more of a choice, and that she didn’t want to be with him, which wasn’t the case at all.

“Oh? What would you call it then?” he asked dryly, raising a dark skeptical brow to further convey his doubt.

“Complicated,” she said flatly, frustrated that they were even having this conversation in the first place. 

Her decision to let go of her feelings for Remus and allow things to develop between him and Tonks had been difficult and painful enough to make in the first place. She had no desire to dredge it all up again and hash it out with Sirius of all people. He wasn’t likely to give the situation the gravity it was due. Not when it meant potentially making his friend miserable for the time being.

“I know you, so I know it’s not the werewolf thing that’s stopping you,” Sirius continued stubbornly refusing to let the conversation drop.

“Of course not!” Hermione scoffed. As if something like that would ever stop her. It had no bearing on who Remus was as a person. If anything, it made him a more aware and tolerant person to those around him, if not always towards himself. And those were traits she greatly admired. “Wait, is that what he thinks?” Hermione demanded, aghast at the idea he’d ever believe such a thing. 

“He did, but I’m pretty sure I talked him ‘round it,” Sirius replied, pursing his lips. 

It was so unfair that Remus didn’t see himself clearly. Not to mention how he let his experiences with prejudiced people influence how he expected people to feel about him, and made him feel so unworthy of being loved. If anything, he was even more worthy because of his strength of character. 

Part of Hermione was also hurt that he’d think her capable of rejecting him over such a superficial reason. As if she would cave to petty, ridiculous societal opinions!

“Sirius, you know I couldn’t care less about that,” she huffed angrily. The very idea was insulting.

“I figured as much. He didn’t really think you would, but he’s never opened himself up to the possibility of love before out of fear that that would happen. But then you showed up,” Sirius added, seeming to read her mind.

Hermione’s breath caught at his words. At the idea that she’d been enough for Remus to lose his head, and the tight leash he kept on his emotions. “It’s not as though I planned to come here,” Hermione breathed, distracted by the fluttering in her stomach as she thought of Remus wanting her.

“It’s obvious you fancy him. He told me it’s not Ron, so what’s stopping you?” Sirius persisted, demanding answers she wasn’t at liberty to give.

“There’s so much you don’t know, and can’t possibly understand,” Hermione whispered, shaking her head in refusal.

“It’s not like he’s -- that’s it, isn’t it?” Sirius said, breaking off in the middle as his mind raced to supply him with a logical explanation. 

He stared at her, utterly horrified. His lips parted, silently begging her to deny what he suddenly knew to be true. Slowly, in tiny jerking motions, his head shook back-and-forth.

Cold settled over her. A bone-deep aching. A blizzard raged around her, burying her in an icy grave. 

Shakily, Hermione dragged a jagged breath into her burning lungs. She’d stopped breathing without noticing, and now oxygen deprivation made her dizzy. Little black dots floated across her vision like drunken gnats. Blinking rapidly to dispel them away only made her eyes burn. Pressure seemed to be making her eyes swell painfully, threatening to pop free of her pounding skull. Sirius appeared to be wavering, swaying in a nonexistent breeze as a thick layer of liquid coated her vision -- tears preparing themselves to fall. 

“Remus is going to die,” Sirius stated, words a harsh death rattle tumbling out. 

Tears flowed freely down Hermione’s face as she took in the devastation the knowledge caused the man before her. He’d already lost so much. This new loss seemed to be the final straw.

“That’s a large part of it,” Hermione admitted.

“So save him,” Sirius demanded harshly, words rough and raw, ragged with freshly inflicted pain.

“Save him? Save him? You think I haven’t considered that!” Hermione shouted, not even caring if she was overheard. She was far too angry to remember to be cautious. She reached to shove him back so that she could stand, not liking his height advantage, but her attempt didn’t budge him at all.

“Have you? Because it seems pretty simple to me,” Sirius growled, planting his hands on either side of her head and leaning down to further invade her space.

“And if the consequences are Harry’s death? Or Voldemort’s triumph? Is it worth it?” she spat, tossing out her fears like throwing stars, each managing to slice through his anger and leaving him a deflated balloon. 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, retreating to slump into the chair beside her, his elbows planted on his knees so his hands could cradle his face.

“Exactly,” Hermione breathed, defeat thickly coloring her acknowledgement. She was in an impossible situation, one that only now seemed to be dawning on Sirius. “And even if I try, there’s no guarantee that I’ll succeed. It happened in the middle of a battle, I don’t see how I can possibly get to where I could help without being seen. And even if I can, what then?”

The room was quiet, each processing the reality of what she’d just imparted.

“When?”

Hermione refused to answer him, shaking her head at the question. That knowledge wouldn’t help him come to terms. If anything it would make him behave even more erratically than usual.

“Why won’t you at least enjoy the time you have together? You have no idea what I’d do to --”

“He was with someone else… before,” Hermione admitted, painfully aware of how much she wished that hadn’t been the case. The feelings were immediately overwhelmed by guilt. Wishing that was the equivalent of wishing Teddy out of existence, and she could never do that. “I can’t stand in the way.”

“Bloody, fucking hell,” Sirius hissed, slamming his fists down on the chair arm and causing a cloud of dust to rise up and swirl about him. 

Hermione had never seen him like this. Helpless rage threatening to consume him. He was in the middle of a hurricane, frantically beating at the waves even as the current caught him up and towed him under. 

Sirius opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Hermione beat him to it, insisting, “It wouldn’t be right for me to get between them.”

“No. No, I don’t believe it,” Sirius denied stubbornly, shaking his head.

“What do you mean you don’t believe it? I was there!”

“There’s no way he loved someone else. I’ve known him forever. There’s never been another for him. It’s you. You inspired him to let his guard down enough to open his heart. No way could another witch inspire the same reaction from him. Trust me,” Sirius said, unconsciously breaking Hermione’s heart at the revelations. 

Worse, she couldn’t deny what he said. Remus always felt unworthy of Tonks, and had been very vocal in his refusal of wanting to be with her, letting any number of factors hold him back. So far, that had not been how he was with Hermione. His feelings for her surpassed his doubts. The fact that he was an unemployed werewolf no longer held sway over him.

“Maybe not, but he was still with another,” Hermione said weakly, wishing he’d drop the subject.

“Sex and love aren’t the same thing,” Sirius retorted, a dog with a bone, intent to plead his friend’s case until he made Hermione see reason. “If you give him the choice, he’ll choose you. He deserves the chance to choose for himself.”

“He has a son, Sirius,” Hermione finally revealed, not knowing how else to get through to him.

“What?” Sirius gasped, derailed from his previous line of reasoning.

“Remus has a son with her,” Hermione repeated, deciding not to name who he’d had a son with considering this was already pushing things in terms of saying too much.

“That doesn’t mean he loved her. You make him happy. I want that for him,” Sirius tried, still clinging to his idea that Remus and Hermione belonged together, and that she should let Remus have a say in his happiness. “If he wants a child, you can give him one.”

“It wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be Teddy. That’s the boy’s name -- Teddy. He’s a Hufflepuff. Smart, kind, funny,” Hermione said, drawing a picture for Sirius that would make the boy as real for him as he was for Hermione. “He’s Harry’s godson. And Harry loves him every bit as much as you love Harry. Would you take that from him? And do you honestly believe you’d love Remus’s son any less than you love James’s?”

“Damn it,” Sirius cursed, shooting her a pitying look. “What are you going to do?

“The only thing I can,” Hermione said sadly, ducking her head to hide the fresh surge of tears spilling forth.

~

Molly and Arthur had returned to Grimmauld Place just long enough to gather their belongings, and thank Sirius before taking their leave. Molly’s opinion of Sirius accompanying Harry to the station was made quite clear from her pinched face, disapproving frowns, and frequent ‘hmphs’ anytime she glanced his way.

“Was it worth it?” Remus demanded, giving Sirius a hard look as Hermione joined them in the kitchen, grateful to be able to move about more freely again.

“I hate being trapped here,” Sirius grouched. “I can’t keep doing it! I had to get out.”

“You know why --”

“EVERYONE BELIEVED I BETRAYED JAMES! EVEN YOU,” Sirius roared suddenly, frayed temper finally snapping. He’d been in even worse spirits since their talk the other day, and now he was pushing Remus away too.

“Padfoot, I’m sorry,” Remus said, turning bewildered eyes on Hermione in hopes of an explanation for his mate’s sudden melt down. But Hermione couldn’t say anything without confessing all of it. 

“It was so easy for everyone to believe…” Sirius said bitterly.

“Because of your family, not you,” Remus tried, and Hermione winced, guessing that would make things worse.

“Yes. My family. Suppose it didn’t matter that I was a Gryffindor. Or that I’d turned my backs on them -- long before they turned on me,” Sirius growled. Was this the first time Sirius was letting Remus know how much he’d been hurt by his friend believing the worst of him? Hermione suspected it was.

“Sirius,” Remus began, but Sirius held up his hands to stop him from continuing and turned to leave the room, appearing suddenly drained and weary, not to mention decades older. His visage ravaged by his ordeals all over again.

Remus shot Hermione a pleading look, silently begging her to say something, anything to make sense of the confrontation that had just taken place.

“Remus,” she began haltingly, trying to find words to explain and absolve him of the guilt currently staggering him. “There’s nothing you can say that will make this easier for him. The past --”

“Don’t! I don’t need you to defend me. All you had to do was warn me what today would mean, but you chose not to,” he accused, pausing in the doorway and pointedly adding, “and not for the first time either.”

She’d been toying with the idea of hiding Sirius here, at least until Harry brought them here while they’d been on the run. Assuming, of course, that she did figure out a way to save him, but she could clearly see now that it wouldn’t work. He’d known today would be dangerous for him, and he’d gone anyways -- anything to get out of this house.

“If it hadn’t happened today, it would have eventually. We both know you can’t handle remaining here indefinitely,” Hermione said patiently, willing herself not to take offense. He was agitated and taking it out on those around him. She had years of practice managing Harry and Ron when they’d done the same.

Confusion was gradually replaced with slowly dawning comprehension. Today had been a test of sorts for her, letting the events unfold the way she remembered while also gauging the reactions. Sirius had just realized she was pulling his strings every bit as much as Albus usually did, but at least she was doing it for him, not the greater good.

Hermione internally snorted at herself. Manipulation was manipulation, no matter the motives. And no one appreciated having it done to them regardless of how it was dressed up. She could no more pat herself on the back for her efforts to save Sirius, than Albus could for his to protect Harry. 

“I really want to hate you right now,” he muttered, turning to leave without waiting for a response.

“He wasn’t always like this, you know,” Remus said quietly, a sad weariness settling over him and making his shoulders droop under the weight of it. 

“I never thought he was,” Hermione assured him.

“Azkaban left its mark on him,” Remus continued, taking a seat at the table and preparing a cup of tea, adding four sugars to it and stirring it with deliberateness.

“Do you think he can ever get past it?” Hermione asked, assuming him to be in the best position to judge. Was it possible for him to one day recover enough to have some semblance of a normal life? Would he want to be saved if this was all the more he could ever hope to have?

“Will he have the time to try?” Remus countered, then winced. “Forgive me. I had no right to ask that.”

“How was the party the other night?” Hermione asked, purposefully changing the subject.

Thankfully, Remus didn’t resist, saying, “I had a rousing debate with your younger self.”

“Oh?”

“You quoted me -- a few weeks back. I found myself mentioning something you said in one of our talks,” Remus said, smiling fondly at the memory.

The talks she’d had with Remus while in school still had been very influential. He’d helped shape some of her strongest opinions. Funny, how now she was the one influencing his opinions only to have him pass them on to her.

“So we’ve come full circle,” Hermione mused, returning his smile.

The easy camaraderie between them slowly withered, replaced with a strained tension as they both avoided what had recently passed between them. Or more accurately, what didn’t.

“So we have,” he said quietly, quickly finishing his tea and moving to stand.

“I’m amending a law that I proposed last year. I’d love to have your input for my revisions. If you’re willing,” Hermione said in a rush, reluctant for him to depart and continue avoiding visiting her and Sirius’s prison.

“Albus still isn’t allowing you to help with the Order,” he guessed.

“No,” she said, sounding rather petulant to her own ears. “It’s regarding werewolf rights,” she added, hoping to tempt him into agreeing.

He searched her wonderingly. So many unasked questions were written across his face, but he didn’t voice them, and she didn’t offer up the answers she knew he sought. 

“I’ll have some time later this week,” he said at last, nodding farewell. “Oh, and before I forget -- the twins asked me to pass on a message to you when I was escorting them to the station today. Your Fanged Frisbee idea worked like a charm.”

“Did I forget to mention they stumbled upon me a few weeks back now?” Hermione asked, all faux innocence.

“Must have slipped your mind,” Remus said casually, smiling a bit more easily at her.

~

“But I don’t see why that should matter! It’s setting them up to be ostracized,” Hermione argued, throwing her quill down as she stared at Remus incredulously.

She’d finally explained about her line of work. He’d chuckled and declared that he should have known.

Over the last few days, she’d drafted out as much as she could remember of her original law reform document, as well as the Ministry’s counter proposal. Then, for the last several hours, Hermione and Remus had been going through it to eliminate what they could from her plan, and insert the least restrictive or invasive ideas from the Ministry to make it more palliative. 

At least, they had been progressing until they hit their current snag. She vehemently disagreed with one of the suggestions the Ministry had made when they’d rejected her proposal the first time, and couldn’t for the life of her understand why Remus was actually agreeing with them!

The Ministry wanted to publicly announce whenever a werewolf began attending Hogwarts. After it became known that Albus had let Remus attend without their knowledge or permission, the Ministry had limited the Headmaster’s future ability to make similar decisions without their oversight. That restriction had come in the form of Educational Decree Number Nineteen. 

Now, they were only willing to overturn the decree if the information became common knowledge when it did happen. Hermione was determined to get laws in place to prevent it since they no longer had Albus to go behind their backs, and there was no guarantee that future Headmasters or Headmistresses would take the chance to give children infected with Lycanthropy the opportunities they deserved.

“It’s too dangerous not to. To ensure no accidents happen like the one that almost did while I was at Hogwarts,” Remus explained patiently. “I could have killed Severus if James hadn’t intervened. There were other close calls too. Too many. I understand why they feel this is necessary.”

“Declaring a student as a werewolf to all would be the same as forcing them to register with the Ministry, and I have worked far too hard preventing that,” Hermione insisted, stubbornly refusing to budge on this point.

That had been one of the few laws she’d gotten passed regarding werewolves, but this amendment would circumvent her efforts since everyone would know anyways. 

And what kind of experience would that be for the child? The other students would fear him or her. Hermione remembered how lonely it was not having friends, and didn’t wish that on anyone else, for any length of time.

“Why does it matter so much to you?” Remus asked, tilting his head as he assessed her.

“Forcing a person to identify as different is the same as painting a target on their back. It is a public declaration from those in charge, those meant to protect, that it is acceptable to alienate certain individuals for those differences. Differences that should be cherished, not feared. 

“And if we allow some to be set aside, what is to stop it from happening to others? How can you draw a line once you’ve basically said some arbitrary guidelines should determine when specific individuals aren’t worthy of basic rights and privileges granted to others?”

“You’ve given this a great deal of thought,” Remus said quietly, renewed admiration shining through like an explosion of light cast by the first rays of dawn.

“No sentient creature should be made to feel less simply because they don’t fit into a stereotypical ideal,” Hermione reiterated, standing firm in her beliefs.

Neither spoke after that, each getting lost in the other. There was so much goodness in Remus. It pained Hermione when he failed to see it himself. She wished so much to reach out and touch him. To cup his cheek and tell him what she really thought of him. To make him believe about himself all that she already did.

“Have you been working with any of the new members lately?” she asked suddenly, bringing herself back to the present, and remembering she wasn’t alone in seeing his worth. Tonks had as well.

“Not really, no. I prefer to work alone, or here with Sirius,” Remus said, blinking and dipping his chin, though not quickly enough for her to miss the confusion that clouded his face.

“How is everyone?” Hermione asked, genuinely curious. 

No one else had come around after Harry and the Weasley’s left. Not that she could engage with them even if they did, but at least she could hear about them second-hand through Sirius. Assuming he’d talk to her. He’d been in a temper and avoiding her this week, so she’d been rather lonely.

“Kingsley’s position is good for gathering data and divvying up who needs to be tailed and where they’ll be. Severus has been very helpful with that as well. Bill’s having no luck with the goblins, and Hagrid is still off the grid. Everyone else is occupied with guard duty or trailing Death Eaters,” Remus relayed, straightening the papers on the table unnecessarily.

“And Tonks?” Hermione prompted, having noticed that he’d not mentioned her.

“Nymphadora is mostly on guard duty,” he said, then glanced up. “Were you two friends? She’s not much older than your younger self,” he mused, though he sounded slightly doubtful at the prospect.

“She was closer to Ginny,” Hermione confirmed.

“I could see that,” Remus said, smiling a little as he considered it. “Minerva’s told us that Harry’s already run afoul of Dolores Umbridge. Should we be worried?”

Remus wore a nasty look when saying the beastly woman’s name. Hermione made a mental note to ask him about it another time. There wasn’t time now. He had to leave for guard duty soon. Honestly, he should have already left, but they’d gotten too wrapped up in their earlier debate. He seemed to have realized the same thing, because he stood and nodded at the door, silently asking her to see him out as she addressed his concern.

“Harry can handle anything she throws his way. He’s in such a foul temper this year, that it’ll do him good to have an outlet to direct it at, and the trials she’ll put him through will help prepare him for what’s to come,” Hermione replied, giving him as much as she could.

“That bad, huh?” Remus asked, wincing, and successfully reading between the lines.

“Best not to tell Sirius more than necessary,” she confirmed, suddenly worried that it would fall to her to keep him from storming the castle once he found out the extent of Harry’s struggles this year. It was not a prospect she was looking forward to tackling.

“Got it,” Remus acknowledged quietly, briefly glancing at Mrs. Black’s sleeping portrait as he passed. Without glancing back, Remus exited, taking what little warmth could be found in Grimmauld Place with him.

They’d both kept their distance romantically speaking all day, but there’d been times the mounting tension had been thick enough to cut with a blade. Worse, based on the way he spoke of Tonks, they weren’t falling for each other despite the distance she’d painstakingly placed between herself and Remus. They didn’t even seem to be forming a friendship at this point in time. He still called her Nymphadora! 

What did it mean?

Was Hermione going to have to try to get them together? She honestly didn’t think she was capable.

~

Sirius seemed to be in a much better mood the next day, and that was even after Albus had refused to call an emergency meeting when Sirius shared his concerns after receiving Harry’s owl. Hermione wondered if his outburst, and the act of simply getting one of the reasons he was angry off his chest had helped in some small, indefinable way. 

Hermione was still contemplating it when she entered the kitchen later that night to find Sirius kneeling on the floor, his head wreathed in dancing green flames where it was leaning into the fireplace, the sound of Harry’s voice echoing through the room.

So that was the source of Sirius’s improved mood. He’d been planning to talk to Harry directly since Albus had forbidden him from writing to his godson.

“You’re less like your father than I thought. The risk would’ve been what made it fun for James,” Sirius said cooly, disappointment a barely suppressed waterfall cascading around him. The spray of it flew up to catch everyone nearby in the face with the icy droplets.

“Oh,” Hermione gasped, pity welling inside her. She remembered when this happened. Sirius had been an eager puppy at the start, but he’d not appreciated Harry’s abundance of caution. Sirius glanced up at her sound of dismay, and his face hardened in response.

“Look --”

“Well, I’d better get going,” Sirius interrupted, his eyes flicking to Hermione again as he gruffly added, “I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs. I’ll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?”

Bitterness tainted the goodbye, and Sirius sat back on his heels, breaking the connection before Harry had a chance to say anything else. He stared coldly up at Hermione. It was abruptly obvious that whatever good mood he’d managed to find had vanished once more.

“You going to start in on me about how dangerous that was?” Sirius asked roughly, gritting his teeth as he stood. He moved to press his hands against the surface of the long wooden table, giving Hermione his back as he continued, “Or how I can’t go to Hogsmeade because we all know I didn’t actually get away with seeing the train off at Platform 9 3/4?”

“No. You need him every bit as much as he needs you,” Hermione said quietly, her heart twisting as she took in Sirius’s hunched shoulders and stiff stance.

“I’m not broken,” he insisted darkly, letting his head fall forward.

Hermione went to him, gently placing a kiss on his temple. He gave no sign of even noticing apart from clenching his hands into tightly balled fists.

“No,” she agreed. With a sigh, she made to leave him in peace, acknowledging over her shoulder, “Just a bit damaged. But who among us isn’t after surviving a war?”


	8. 8: Long Awaited Meetings and Surrenders

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

That said, I recently got a message that there are too many mistakes in my chapters for them to even be readable. While I’m sure I do make mistakes, seeing as I only give it a quick proofread because my several real jobs prevent me from having time to do more unless I wait longer between updates, it’s really not necessary to send me a message complaining without pointing out an error for me to fix. 

Also, I don’t have a beta. If anyone is ever interested in the job, please let me know. I’m sure another pair of eyes would help catch more of the little mistakes that happen from trying to type too quickly.

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 8: Long Awaited Meetings and Surrenders

September-October 1995

Grimmauld Place

“Wotcher! You the newest member?” Tonks greeted, stumbling into the kitchen.

Hermione turned, gasping as she took in the young witch with bubblegum pink chin-length hair. The sight of her splintered Hermione’s composure. Her face, a two-way mirror that had shattered when Tonks came tripping into view, and she was certain everyone could see her every thought exposed for all who wished to know the inner workings of her mind. 

The newcomer was grinning excitedly, and bumped her hip roughly into the table as she made her way around it to offer Hermione her hand. Hermione stared blankly at the long, slender fingers, trying to remember. Freckles dotted her nose, and Hermione realized she had the same forehead as Teddy. 

Memories of the boy assaulted Hermione. He possessed none of his mum’s outgoing friendliness, oftentimes displaying a shy, reserved air around strangers instead. He opened up quickly enough once he got to know a person, but he wasn’t as readily trusting and optimistic as the witch before her was demonstrating.

Uncertainty crossed Tonks’s face, and Hermione realized she was still waiting for Hermione to shake her proffered hand. Cautiously, Hermione did, swallowing thickly. Tonks was so unbelievably young. Practically still a child. Certainly not old enough to be a soldier in this war. To risk her life or pay the ultimate price as she had. Only barely twenty-one if Hermione’s math was correct, and she was sure it was. The woman before her was a full decade younger than herself considering she’d just turned thirty-one a little more than a week earlier. It left Hermione feeling positively ancient, which was ridiculous.

“Uh, no. Not exactly,” Sirius replied for Hermione, when it became obvious she was incapable of speech.

Guilt had her in a quicksand hold, inescapable as it dragged her down. Coming face-to-face with the woman that was supposed to bear Remus a son, had not been on her list of things to do. A little preparation would have been nice. Particularly as she took in the warm smile directed her way and laughter dancing merrily in her rich hazel eyes, clips of green flecked chocolate brown.

Hermione felt like a thief as she looked around, hoping to make a quick escape. Instead, she found a very peaky looking Remus standing in the doorway with Mad-Eye and Kingsley. Mad-Eye’s magical blue eye was swirling wildly in it’s socket, distracting her from staring at his missing chunk of nose. Mad-Eye had his wand out, and leveled at her chest in an instant. Hermione ignored the raised wand, focusing on the spinning eye instead. The sight of it reminded her of when Harry had taken it from the door of Umbridge’s office at the Ministry. Kingsley, on the other hand, was leaning casually against the door jam, dark, bald head shining and his stance relaxed.

She and Sirius had waited to start dinner, knowing Remus would be joining them, but they’d not been told to expect guests or Hermione would have remained upstairs. It was the night before the full moon, and Remus needed to take the Wolfsbane Potion Hermione had brewed for him. 

“It’s Granger. Potter’s mate,” Mad-Eye growled suspiciously.

“Yes,” Hermione said, frowning. She looked to Remus for an explanation, but he was smiling gently, and seemed inclined to let the scene play out without his interference for the time being. His mere presence sent a hum of awareness through her veins like so many buzzing bees.

“Not the one at Hogwarts, I take it,” Kingsley said lightly.

Kingsley. The lone survivor of those currently gathered with her. How utterly devastating to consider...

Hermione missed him more than she’d realized. They worked closely together. Often engaging in working lunches or dinners -- much to his wife’s chagrin. His wife, Angelica, despaired when Hermione came over during the week, knowing they’d soon get caught up in Ministry politics and forget that the work day was over. But that was to be expected. For almost a year now, Kingsley had been grooming her to take over when he retired, which he planned to do when he and Angelica had children in the next couple years.

“Obviously,” Mad-Eye said dryly.

“Merlin! It is you,” Tonks gasped, leaning closer to peer at Hermione. Immediately, Hermion leaned back, pressing into her chair back to keep their noses from bumping when Tonks lost her balance, though she righted herself almost at once. “I barely recognize you!”

“I don’t look that different,” Hermione said, frowning at the genuine surprise the other witch was displaying.

“Different enough. You really grew into yourself,” Tonks said admiringly even as Sirius snorted at the statement. “And it wasn’t as though I came here expecting to find you’d gotten old -- er, older. Oh, you know what I meant!” Tonks groaned, throwing up her hands and rolling her eyes even as embarrassed delight stretched her mouth into a giant grin.

Hermione had never really cared about her appearance overly much, so she wasn’t sure what to make of their reactions apart from agreeing that her soft, honey curls had lost much of the wild, coarse frizz they’d displayed during her Hogwarts’s years. But she’d never lost her habit of getting lost in her work or in a book and ended up forgetting to eat a lunch here or a dinner there. The result, in combination with her parents’ influence on diet and her excellent metabolism, was that she was as slender as she’d ever been, even if she wasn’t extremely active.

“How are you here?” Kingsley said, saving her from the awkwardness.

“There was an accident,” she said simply, looking to Remus for answers about why he’d brought them without warning. 

“I spoke to Albus. He agreed you could start working with them since you’re staying here, and they visit most frequently. He feels it would be too risky to tell Molly or Arthur -- Minerva too, and definitely Hagrid, but it’s something. It will also give you a new challenge,” he said. 

She was touched by his consideration and willingness to speak to Albus on her behalf. Since term had started, she’d not seen the older wizard, and had had no opportunity to try and convince him to let her help.

“It’ll be nice not having to hide, and having a few more people around I can talk to,” Hermione said, hoping Remus understood her gratitude.

“You saying I’m not good enough company?” Sirius bristled, raising an imperious brow at her and tossing his long hair over his shoulder.

“You think you are?” Hermione fired back. 

He’d polished off at least two brand new bottles of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey this week alone. And when he wasn’t drunk, he was sulking over his fights with Harry and Remus. It had made for some tense interactions in recent weeks. Hopefully, with more people around, he’d have a better chance of shaking his funk.

“At least this way they’ll have more reason to visit,” he sighed, silently acknowledging her point, and confirming her suspicions that he was lonely.

Hermione had tried spending time with him initially, but she could only handle his pointed barbs up to a point before her own temper snapped. They were both going stir crazy locked up without any outlets or hope of parol coming anytime soon. That was part of why Remus’s actions meant as much as they did. 

It was just too bad he didn’t know how uncomfortable Tonks’s presence was currently making Hermione feel. Guilty might be a better way to describe it.

“I’ll be checkin’ your story out, Girlie,” Mad-Eye threatened, and she found herself smiling at the familiar indicator of his trademark paranoia.

“I assumed you would,” she replied softly, thinking back on how he’d been prior to his death.

“I’m surprised Dumbledore didn’t come himself,” Sirius said, wondering why Albus wouldn’t make himself available to navigate Mad-Eye’s quirks and be a part of this meeting. 

Hermione had been wondering the same. It wasn’t like him not to micromanage, particularly when she knew he’d want to warn everyone about the danger involved in asking too many questions or remind her not to give too much away.

“Umbridge is keeping him busy with the new Ministry decrees,” Remus explained. “He had a hard enough time just getting to the Hog’s Head to meet with me.”

“So what can you tell us?” Tonks asked eagerly, knocking a fork off the table in the process of placing her elbows to prop her head on her fists. 

Hermione didn’t remember her being quite this clumsy. Perhaps excitement made it worse. The witch was clearly loving the new twist Hermione presented. 

“Don’t bother asking. She won’t say,” Sirius grumbled. Hermione gave him a look, reminding him that she had, in fact, shared more than was strictly necessary, and Sirius’s eyes shuttered over almost at once.

“Had to try,” Tonks said easily, shrugging.

“Can you prove this isn’t a trick?” Mad-Eye demanded, not quite ready to believe her or abandon his friends in a potentially dangerous situation while he sought out Albus to question for himself.

“What sort of proof would you like?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“Something Remus, here, can verify,” Mad-Eye demanded, taking a swig from his hip flask. The action prompted Remus to go to the icebox and begin passing out refreshments to those gathered in the kitchen.

“The only exam Harry ever scored higher than me on was Remus’s final,” Hermione said immediately, grinning at the startled wolf.

“Truly? I heard you’re the smartest in your year, and I know they named you Prefect over the summer. What happened on that one?” Tonks asked, still studying Hermione as though she were a pinned butterfly on display. Except her genuine amusement at the idea lessened the discomfort. Hermione could admit, if their places were switched, she’d have been just as fascinated if confronted with a time-traveler that was suddenly fifteen years older than the version of the person she was already familiar with.

“The boggart,” Hermione admitted, biting her lip embarrassedly over her younger self’s ridiculousness. 

“Oh! What are you afraid of? For me it’s puppets. Those dolls are so creepy,” Tonks rattled off, accepting one of the butterbeers Remus was passing out.

Hermione accepted one too, taking a sip before confessing, “Professor McGonagall told me I’d failed all of my exams.”

“That right?” Mad-Eye asked, seeking confirmation from Remus and impatiently waving off the butterbeer. Though his magical eye had never strayed from Hermione, and was even then proceeding to scan her from head-to-foot for the upteenth time since he’d arrived. 

Remus glanced at her, and they exchanged a smile at the memory. It felt like a lifetime ago at least. From the way he shook his head, he seemed to be having trouble relating her to the student he’d once known as well. But that was fine with her. It’d be strange if he did still see her the same.

“That was, in fact, the form her boggart took, and the reason that she was marked down on her exam. But I think we all know that would never actually happen,” Remus said lightly.

“Think I need to hear from Dumbledore himself that you’re legit,” Mad-Eye announced, turning to leave.

“Don’t mind him. He’s getting paranoid in his old age!” Tonks called after the retreating figure, grinning at everyone when they heard the front door slam in response. 

_“FILTH! TRAITORS! BEGONE --”_

“Bloody hell, Mad-Eye!” Sirius growled, setting off to silence his mother’s portrait. Grumbling as he went. “Just ‘cause you’re a crotchety old --”

“I heard you were interested in helping,” Kingsley said, redirecting the conversation as he pulled a thick folder stuffed with flattened, abused parchments from inside his robes.

“Yes!” Hermione exclaimed, reaching to take the yellowing pages filled with spiky, black script.

“Mind taking a look at these reports? Maybe drafting up a few replies? I haven’t the time, but we’re hoping to reach an agreement with the centaurs and merpeople living away from the Hogwarts grounds. Albus was in talks with them over the summer, but with the situation at the school, he can’t continue. We could still do with having reliable informants elsewhere though, and being assured that they’re willing to pass on what they learn,” Kingsley explained.

“Of course,” Hermione beamed, already scanning the first page as the others set about eating the delayed supper and joking easily.

~

Phineas Nigellus appeared in the portrait over the library mantle later that night. He looked down his long nose at her, silently demanding a reaction. His sneer increased when she failed to give him the satisfaction. The former Headmaster narrowed his shrewd, dark eyes when she still didn’t speak, rustling his expensive black robes and puffing out his chest with unmistakable self-importance.

While she’d always been careful to give his position the respect it was due, she’d never cared for him overly much, and hadn’t understood when Harry decided to keep his portrait during his renovations. Not after how difficult Phineas had made things for them during their time on the run. Of course, Phineas had come in handy this last year whenever Harry had wanted to make arrangements to sneak into Hogwarts to visit Teddy.

“I wondered if you were going to come see me,” Hermione finally said once it became clear Phineas planned on watching her until she spoke.

“Moody had a lot to say to Dumbledore about you, Girl,” he replied at once, smirking.

“I imagine he did,” Hermione agreed, smothering her smile. Mad-Eye probably tried to convince Albus she was an imposter. And failing that, that she should either have her memories erased or be sent away altogether until the war was over and they’d reached the point she left from.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“Did you expect me to be scared?” Hermione countered.

“Putting on a brave act doesn’t make you invincible,” Phineas said coldly.

“I’m locked in a safehouse. What’s there to fear?”

“I know you’re up to something,” he accused slyly.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Hermione denied.

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered suspiciously, then proceeded to stride pompously out of the frame. Though Hermione knew he’d be watching her closely from now on, likely reporting her every move and conversation to Albus like the little sneak he was.

~

There’d been another Order meeting. The first since the students returned to Hogwarts. Hermione waited until most of the members had departed, then joined Remus, Sirius, Kingsley and Tonks in the kitchen. It was immediately apparent that they’d been drinking.

“Think three’ll be enough?” Tonks asked her the moment Hermione entered. Her hair was a waist-length cascade of rich chestnut tonight. It was strangely, almost unsettlingly normal, and Hermione idly wondered at her reasoning for it. 

“Three?” Hermione asked, frowning in confusion, then more so when Kingsley handed her a shot of deep amber firewhiskey. The liquid sloshed dangerously as she took a seat beside Tonks at the table.

“Guards,” Tonks explained, raising her glass and downing the contents with a sputtering gasp, before she added, “for Hogsmeade this weekend.”

“I can go too, if you’re worried,” Remus offered.

“We already know Dung isn’t reliable, so you better plan on going,” Sirius answered for Tonks. Sirius only ever relaxed about Harry’s safety when he knew Remus was watching over him. Probably because Remus had spent his Hogwarts years watching over him and James, so Sirius knew he was up to the challenge.

It was probably even harder for Sirius right now. After how the Floo call went with Harry a few weeks back, he’d refused to talk to either Remus or Hermione about his godson. Sirius had seemed to take the incident as confirmation that everything Molly had said about him was correct.

“Be sure to check out the Hog’s Head,” Hermione said knowingly, realizing that the DA’s initial recruitment meeting would be happening this weekend. Dumbledore’s Army. What a force to be reckoned with they’d turned out to be under Harry’s superb tutelage!

“I suddenly feel a whole lot better about things,” Tonks said, holding out her glass for Kingsley to refill. He smirked as he did, then refilled his own, swallowing it with a bit more dignity than Tonks, who was flailing her arms about and smacking her lips to shake off the acidic burn. “It sure is nice having you around.”

“Yes, yes, now drink up, Cuz. You too, Granger,” Sirius said, nodding to the still full glass clutched tightly in Hermione’s fist. When she hesitated, assessing the drink, Sirius continued, “It’s a party. Live a little.”

Sighing, Hermione tossed back her head and swallowed the fiery liquid. It blazed a path down her throat, and she coughed, pressing a hand to her chest as the sensation of fire engulfing her heart slowly faded. 

It wasn’t as though she never drank. The surviving members of the DA and Order got together at Harry’s house every year for the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort may have been defeated on May 2nd, but the fighting had begun on the 1st of May. In honor of that, everyone gathered on the first, overindulged -- including Molly Weasley -- then spent the next day at the memorial service Hogwarts hosted to commemorate the fallen.

There were other times too that the boys convinced her to go out with them, or she’d indulge in a girls night with Fleur, Val and Gin. And Hermione had always enjoyed a good wine. But she could already tell tonight would be different with Sirius instigating things, helped in no small part by Kingsley pouring drinks -- bartender turned Minister. If Hermione had only known sooner… oh, the teasing and jokes she could have made!

Kingsley refilled her glass the second she set it down, grinning at her and nudging it forward. Hermione nodded and swallowed it, cringing at the return of the burning in her throat. Flames licked at the tender flesh, a light flaying.

“Oh! Remus, we can disguise ourselves and watch,” Tonks suggested. She paused, her glass halfway to her mouth as a thought occurred to her. “Harry’s not taking a date there, is he? I’m not sure I want to watch if he spends the whole time snogging -- too embarrassing.”

Hermione burst out laughing. Harry may have been hopeless with girls back then, but even he’d known better than to take a date there. “No. Not a date.”

“He does fancy witches though?” Kingsley asked. “Or wizards. Either way. I just mean, he’s not so caught up in the war, he’s not getting the chance to have that.”

Everyone looked to Hermione, interested in her response. She downed her refilled glass, bracing herself not to reveal too much, but ultimately deciding a little couldn’t hurt. The drink was more enjoyable now, the fire less hot and more a pleasant tingling instead. Remus and Sirius exchanged wistful looks, probably remembering James’s infatuation with Lily. 

“You needn’t worry. Harry fancies someone, but he’ll soon realize he could do better, and that he should be looking a little closer to find the right witch for him.”

“Not you, right?” Tonks asked, gaping at her.

“Definitely not. Harry’s like my brother,” Hermione said, head feeling lighter after the three drinks she’d consumed. 

Laughter filled the room in regular bursts as the night wore on, tangling with the decadent atmosphere of the room, and Hermione was pleased to find herself enjoying the freedom and company.

“What do you think of Remus?” she asked Tonks quietly, not long after the clock had chimed twice, signaling it was two in the morning. Her tongue was thick and loose, forming words without much forethought. But this seemed like as good a time as any to get things back on track, even if she was reluctant to push the man she cared about into the arms of another.

“So you aren’t oblivious,” Tonks said merrily, faking wiping sweat from her brow in relief. “Whew -- I was beginning to worry!”

“What?” Hermione asked, baffled.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he watches you. He’s a predator, and you, Hermione, are his intended prey,” Tonks said, giggling uproariously. 

“So you… “

“Me what?” Tonks blinked, then blinked again, her mouth falling open as she stared at Hermione. “Me and him? No! Not that he’s not swoon worthy -- I mean sigh -- but I’m no poacher, and that man is clearly in love with you.”

“Tonks --” Hermione began, wanting to tell the witch to keep her voice down. Not to mention needing to inform her of how wrong she was. Remus wasn’t in love with her. Perhaps he could have loved her, but she’d already ruined that chance. He’d made no move towards her again after the first time when she’d not taken him up on his advance.

“Besides, Sirius warned me my first night here that he was taken. Now I see he was referring to you.”

“Tonks!”

“I think I’ll have to call you a liar if you claim you’re not interested in him too,” Tonks continued, oblivious to Hermione’s attempts to get her to quiet down or stop long enough to listen. No wonder nothing was happening between Tonks and Remus, Tonks wasn’t developing the crush she initially had because she believed Remus was already taken.

“My situation is complicated,” Hermione pointed out, referring to her time travel as an excuse not to be with Remus. It seemed an easy explanation for why they couldn’t be together, and hopefully Tonks would agree and then things would work themselves out without her having to do this again. 

“The future will come -- whether we want it to or not. So there’s no point not living today. We’re fighting a war. We don’t have a minute to waste. You have to grab happiness wherever you can find it!” Tonks shouted, standing and throwing her arms up to emphasize her point.

“You’re intoxicated,” Hermione gaped, not having realized Tonks was so deep in her cups. She looked around for help, and was surprised to find Sirius already approaching.

“I am wise beyond my years right now,” Tonks insisted, trying to cross her arms defiantly even as she burst into giggles. The attempt only served to tip her sideways. Right into Sirius’s waiting arms. He scooped her up.

“Of course you are. Now let’s get you to bed. You’ve got work in the morning, and that will be here before you know it,” he murmured gently, carrying his cousin from the room to let her stay in one of the spares and sleep it off.

“I should be heading out as well,” Kingsley said in his deep, soothing voice. The words forming even slower than normal given the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

“Bye, Kingsley,” Hermione said while Remus nodded at the dark man.

“What were you two whispering about?” Remus asked, clearly assumed by the recent events he’d witnessed.

“Would you believe me if I said boys?” Hermione said, shaking her head in amazement at how the conversation went.

“From her, yes,” Remus said, infusing the statement with a world of meaning.

“But not me?”

“Will you tell me what’s been bothering you lately?” he countered, unexpectedly referencing the distance she’d deliberately placed between them while moving around the table to take Tonks’s recently vacated seat. 

Hermione took in his curiously assessing eyes, only barely masking his desire for her. The alcohol he’d consumed must have made him bold. “You read me so easily,” she acknowledged, wishing things were different. What would it be like to go through life with a partner that understood her?

“I pay attention,” he said, bringing his fingers to her face, and using the tips to smooth out the concerned wrinkles in her brow.

“My presence has changed things… unintentionally,” Hermione admitted, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. It was strong and measured, safe and warm.

“How badly?” he asked, withdrawing his hand and turning serious in an instant.

“In a way I’m not sure I can live with,” she said frankly, the dreamy haze fogging her brain burning away under the rays of reality. 

“Is it too late to fix it?”

“It might be,” she said, glancing down at the floor as her conversation with Tonks replayed in her mind.

Silently, she begged him not to ask what he could do to help. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him directly to be with Tonks. Not when she wanted to be with him so badly herself.

“If you’re not sure, then things could still work themselves out. In that case, there’s no point worrying until you need to,” Remus said firmly, sitting back and reaching across the table for his drink. 

He seemed to remember that she’d not welcomed his advances before, and was determined not to inflict them on her again now while they’d been imbibing, and therefore had clouded judgements. One more point to denote his character.

“So I should ‘grab happiness wherever I can find it’?” Hermione said, quoting Tonks, and trying to lighten the tone of their conversation while also diffusing the tension beginning to trickle in with Remus’s obvious retreat from her.

“She had a point,” he stated, averting his eyes.

“It’s certainly something to consider,” she breathed, drawing Remus’s attention back to her. He opened his mouth, but a shuffling noise had both of them looking towards the doorway.

Sirius had reentered the kitchen, but almost at once, he’d begun backing out, trying to go unnoticed. His attempt failed, and he froze when both Remus and Hermione were staring at him. He gave them a half smile, and sheepishly asked, “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all, Padfoot. Your timing is impeccable,” Remus said easily.

“In that case you won’t mind keeping me company a while longer, eh, Moony?” Sirius requested, reaching for the nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Hermione murmured, departing before she said something she shouldn’t, and knowing they needed this time together to work things out between them.

~

Two days later, Remus and Tonks returned to Grimmauld Place, each wearing long black robes and carrying veiled hats. Tonks and Remus both removed their hoods, each dirty and worn, though in only slightly worse condition than his faded robes.

“Dung is furious he missed all the action,” Tonks said, speaking in a strong Yorkshire accent as she grinned at Sirius and Hermione, both of whom had been waiting for them to arrive and share about how the Hogsmeade visit went. She frowned and pointed her wand first at her throat, then Remus’s. “Action?” she repeated, grinning even brighter, and acknowledging, “Ah, yes. That’s much better. What… oh, Dung. Right. He thinks I don’t know that was him dressed up as a witch by the fire.” Tonks was shaking her head in amusement, but Remus was focused on her.

“You really should have warned Harry what you’d planned. I thought he was set to have a fit for a moment there when all those students showed up to hear him,” Remus chided her, ruining the effect with his wide smile.

“I did tell him!” Hermione insisted. It had been Ron that thought Harry would baulk if he knew how many were interested, but Hermione had been more worried about setting him off and figured there’d be less chance of that with more witnesses around.

“What was it I heard you say? ‘A couple of people?’” Tonks said, mimicking her timid, high-pitched voice as she’d attempted to manage Harry’s temper.

“Oh, come off it!” she said, rolling her eyes. They had no idea what a short fuse Harry had this year. They’d no doubt have tried understating things as well.

“Dumbledore thinks you’re right about Fudge. Thinking he’s afraid Albus is building an army at the school. He was rather impressed you figured it out,” Remus informed her. “We gave him our report just before.”

“It wasn’t very difficult given all the nonsense Umbridge was spouting,” Hermione said, brushing his praise aside. “Particularly when combined with all the new policies.”

“And as a result, the army he feared was created,” Tonks said gleefully.

“I knew he had it in him,” Sirius said, beaming. Hermione had filled him in on what was taking place while they waited. “James’s son through and through!”

“Yes, well, he still needs to be careful with Umbridge. The last thing he needs is to get on her bad side,” Remus warned, concern for Harry nearly tangible.

“She’s not still giving you trouble, is she?” Sirius asked, frowning at his friend.

“What trouble?” Tonks asked, looking between the two wizards.

“Her laws against werewolves,” Remus said cooly, clenching his fists.

“Oh,” Tonks said, wincing sympathetically. “Those.”

“The last one she presented to the Minister called for us to pay a hazard tax every full moon -- as if we have spare money to pay after her last law prevented us from working in direct contact with society, which is in addition to preventing us from holding Ministry positions -- and required we spend the day before as well as the day after the full moon in Azkaban,” Remus said tiredly, a bone-deep weariness radiating from him. 

“She didn’t!” Tonks gasped, horrified by the prospect.

“Punishment for being what we are. As if it isn’t already a curse,” Remus said, averting his eyes from the pity directed his way.

“Someone needs to lock her up. See how she likes staying there,” Sirius growled, bearing his teeth in a way that was reminiscent of Snuffles.

Hermione touched Remus’s hand, gaining his immediate attention. “It won’t always be like this,” she promised. Remus flushed shamefully, closing his eyes and turning his face away once more.

“But I will always be tainted,” Remus said dully.

“You’re not tainted!” Hermione hissed, squeezing his hand.

“Right, well I best be sharing all this with Kingsley,” Tonks interjected loudly, tripping against the edge of the bench as she hastily made her way out of the room.

“Wait for me. I’ll see you out,” Sirius said, rushing to follow after her.

“Remus, look at me, please,” Hermione requested once they were alone. After a moment, he did. “You are remarkable. Being a werewolf doesn’t change that fact or make you any less wonderful,” she declared forcefully.

Remus shook his head slightly, hardly daring to believe her. “I talked to Sirius.”

“About before? Thinking he was the one to betray James,” she asked, not following the shift in conversation he was making. Other than the night they’d been drinking together, today was the most she’d seen the two friends interact since Sirius’s explosion.

She knew that conversation had been weighing on each of them, and with Sirius’s movements restricted, and Remus keeping busy for the Order, they’d not had much chance to talk.

“Yes, we discussed that. He was so quick to forgive before, just grateful that someone finally knew the truth that it didn’t matter that he spent twelve years wrongfully in prison,” Remus said. His face was more closed off than usual. Hermione had the sense he was building towards something, but she didn’t know what. Her mind was still stuck on how he saw himself thanks to narrow-minded trolls like Umbridge.

“Did you forgive him as well?” Hermione asked absently.

“He’d done nothing wrong,” Remus denied, brow furrowing at her question. It seemed to throw him as much as the topic change had previously thrown her.

“He suspected you first. That was the whole reason you weren’t told about the switch in secret-keepers,” Hermione pointed out.

“It’s understandable --”

“It’s not! Your worth is not defined by your condition. You have to stop excusing others and making allowances when they forget that,” Hermione insisted fervently. She started to reach out, but Remus caught her hands in his first, tangling their fingers together.

“Do you truly believe that?”

“Yes!”

“Will you tell me about Teddy?” he asked suddenly, making her start at the unexpected segway.

“He told you,” Hermione breathed, scanning his face. No wonder he’d been masking his thoughts. Sirius had probably told him the other night when she’d left the two in the kitchen with the bottle of firewhiskey.

“Of course he did,” Remus said quietly, one side of his lips twitching up. “It’s not quite the same, but…”

Hermione nodded, conceding his point. She’d not been fair making his decisions for him. He had a right to at least have all the knowledge and facts before he decided what he wanted. Especially considering he was central to the issue.

“Your son is incredible,” Hermione said simply, thinking of the small boy with turquoise hair and emerald green eyes. His shy smile and love of books. Loyalty and a fiercely protective side, his defining qualities.

“My… son,” Remus tried, the word seeming to stick uncomfortably to his tongue, a mixture of molasses and peanut butter. So much caution and fear were rolled up in the single syllable.

“Remus, he’s not a werewolf,” Hermione promised, grateful she could alleviate what she imagined his primary concern to be.

“Oh,” he said, lips forming the word more than he actually said it. “What else?”

“He looks like you. And he’s quiet. Thoughtful,” she began, smiling fondly as she recalled the birthday gift he’d made her the year before he left for Hogwarts. It’d been a thin wooden bookmark with tiny wolves carved into the surface. He’d made it for her and said it was so she’d think of him whenever she was reading.

“And he’s the only reason you won’t be with me?”

“Yes,” Hermione admitted regretfully. 

The instance she formed the word, Remus pulled her against him and bent to press his lips to hers. His mouth was soft yet demanding, a contrast that left her reeling. Sunshine and warmth exploded in her veins. Starbursts of pleasure and everything wonderful. Insistently, he coaxed her lips apart, teasing them open to slip his tongue inside the cavern of her mouth.

He tasted of Honeydukes chocolate, rich and decadent. Velvet and champagne stroked her senses. Hermione was instantly addicted, desiring more of his heady flavor. Never could she get enough of him. Her blood sang for him, begging -- no demanding -- more. More. It was a raw need in the very marrow of her bones.

Almost unconsciously, she felt his arms slip around her back, hauling her even closer and locking her flush against his chest. She responded by threading her fingers into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, and feeling his answering moan hum through his body as she did. 

Breathless and dizzy, Remus tore his lips away, separating only enough to gulp in much needed oxygen. Hermione panted in his arms, grateful for his strength as it was the only thing holding her upright. His chest was a solid wall of fluid muscle and coiled, barely leashed strength.

“I don’t know what the future holds. Not like you do. I only know I want you by my side when it comes,” he breathed, brushing her lips with his as he spoke, a teasing, tantalizing caress..

Hermione didn’t resist when he took possession of her mouth again. Answering his desire with an endless well of her own consuming need.


	9. 9: Distance and Potions

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 9: Distance and Potions

October-December 1995

Grimmauld Place

Hermione did not release her hold on Remus the next time they came up for air, and neither did he. Her fingers were woven so deeply into his barely greying hair she’d need a crowbar to separate them. His grip on her hips was equally possessive. A permanent joining of two parts into one.

“What about Teddy?” Hermione moaned, burying her face against his neck. She didn’t want to see his face if he took back his previous words. But simply mentioning the boy’s name had her heart aching to see him again. The more she came to care for Remus, the more she cared for the son he’d one day have.

“Do we have time to come up with a plan?” he asked hoarsely, pressing a kiss to her exposed cheek, ragged breaths fanning over her skin with gentle heat.

“A year and so some change, yes,” she agreed. Perhaps it would be best to focus on the more pressing, immediate concerns and leave that for later. Certainly less stressful given all her other worries. Her list of tasks never ending. 

She’d still not been able to come up with a suitable means of saving Sirius while letting Harry believe he died. And Harry needed to believe that he had. That loss had served as motivation, powerful motivation to not give up, to keep fighting, when he’d needed it most.

“Then we’ll sort that out when the time comes,” he suggested, unconsciously giving voice to her thoughts.

Hermione nodded, tipping her face back to see him. Remus stared at her with a kind of wonder. As though she were a precious treasure. His fingers rose, grazing the contours of her face before cradling the back of her head and kissing her again.

It may have started off slow, a savoring of a fine wine, a sensuous brush of velvet over skin. Lush and exotic. But it quickly morphed. Hands roamed, tracing hard planes of solid muscle. There was so much strength coiled beneath her hands, only barely contained below the surface. Remus was raw sexuality with a touch of wildness carefully hidden within. Hermione wanted to feel more, to see what she’d only ever guessed was concealed beneath the ill-fitting robes.

When his fingertips grazed the curve of her breast, she moaned, arching into him, desperate for more contact.

Except the opposite happened. Remus broke off with a tortured groan, letting his forehead fall to rest against hers.

“I have to get going. I’m late as it is, but I had to talk to you first,” he said forlornly. His regret in that instant a naked blade piercing straight through her heart, sharp and fast.

“Late? For what?” Hermione inquired, almost unconsciously digging her fingers into his shoulders as though to hold him to her. The pulse in his throat flicked, strong and fast, racing from their adrenaline-filled embrace.

“You don’t know?” he asked, surprised.

He used the tip of his nose to brush along her own as he waited for her to admit, “No. I truly don’t know what the Order got up to this year apart from guarding the prophecy.”

“Albus has asked me to infiltrate one of the local werewolf packs. To see if I can get some of the others to side with us against Voldemort, or at least not openly fight on his side,” he said flatly, not letting any of his true feelings show.

Hermione didn’t like it. Mostly because she knew how much he’d struggle with it. She’d met a number of werewolves that traveled in packs during her reform work. They were the ones that society, and for many, their friends and family, had turned their backs on. Remus was very different in many ways because he’d had support, and been able to continue a relatively normal life. Most were not as fortunate.

It was because those affected were ousted from society that the worst happened to them, and they did experience more notable changes that individuals bitten didn’t experience if they resumed their previous lives. Remus and Bill were prime examples. But fear prevented that from happening far too often, and the result only served to inspire more fear in most of the wizarding world.

A vicious cycle.

Once separated from the lives they once knew, there were subtle shifts in behavior. Higher levels of aggression and violence. Shorter tempers. When multiple werewolves cohabitated and resided as a pack rather than as witches or wizards, they had the potential to become very nearly feral after a while. 

Oftentimes, there’d be fighting amongst themselves. For dominance -- a pecking order -- much as real wolf packs had. Strength was a prized feature, and Hermione had just felt for herself precisely how strong Remus was, despite his efforts to hide it. They were also fiercely loyal and distrustful of outsiders. It would take Remus a great deal of time and energy to win them over, and he’d probably have to completely submerge himself in their ways to win their trust. 

And the longer they stayed together in packs, with the altered mentality, the more their wolf side took over, superimposing the animalistic qualities onto the human they were the majority of the time.

It was why Fenrir Greyback behaved as he did. He’d been a young child when bitten. Maybe five from the accounts she’d uncovered. Then his parents had turned him out, seeking to distance themselves from any association with a ‘tainted’ child. A pack had taken him in and raised him. He’d grown up knowing no other life.

When his pack had needed money, they’d acted as mercenaries for hire. If someone desired revenge or a means of truly punishing an enemy, they’d hire the pack to attack on the full moon. Greyback, warped by his own childhood experiences, had taken it a step further by always seeking to turn the targets’ children rather than go after them directly. He knew from first-hand experience how much more devastating a blow that was when dealt.

Greyback had vanished after the war, successfully evading the retribution many sought to deliver for his crimes over the years. Harry had spent months searching before finally acknowledging that he’d most likely fled Britain altogether. For a while, Harry had been hell bent on making Greyback suffer for his part in the ordeal Hermione endured at Malfoy Manor.

It was an event she still couldn’t bring herself to consciously think about. Her dreams were a different matter entirely.

“You truly understand, don’t you?” Remus asked, wonderingly. He’d been studying her, watching as she absorbed what this turn of events meant. He clarified, “All that this will entail for both me and us.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed calmly.

Remus seemed startled when she pulled him close to kiss him once more. Capturing his lips and branding them with her own. It was a claim, and one that made it clear she desired all of him, even the parts of himself he hated and couldn’t bear to examine too closely. It was a truth as immutable as stone.

Hope radiated outward from him, bright as a breaking dawn when they broke apart, and she realized he’d been understandably concerned that she’d reject him once she learned of the course he was about to embark on. It was a conditioned response for him, much as it galled her to recognize.

“Remus,” she breathed, softly touching his cheek. There were so many things she longed to say, but the events of the last hour stole her words.

“I almost didn’t ask you about Teddy, worried this would change things. That it would make me less to you,” he admitted frankly, seeming determined to be open with her. “I worried you’d say it was more than him. Or that knowing what I was about to do, you’d change your mind.”

“I’m not. It doesn’t change anything. Not at all,” Hermione vowed, shaking her head as she denied the possibility.

“I should have had more faith in you,” he acknowledged, again gazing upon her as though she were some miraculous creature he’d long sought, and only just discovered was real. The way he looked at her was a rush, making her feel both beautiful and invincible.

“You have a lifetime of people failing you to overcome. I understand it can’t happen overnight,” she said, rationalizing his fears and verbalizing the allowance. Hopefully, by discussing these issues openly, they’d be able to move past them, and not let them stand in their way in the future. “But…”

“What is it?” he asked, concern making the skin around his eyes tight. He seemed to be steeling himself for whatever she was about to say.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

Part of her had wanted to admit that she was worried for him, knowing the toll this would take on him after a lifetime of rejecting that part of himself. But she also knew he was a soldier in Dumbledore’s army, and he could take care of himself. There was no need to put that on him. Besides, he no doubt knew it already, and saying it would only make him feel bad.

“Don’t worry. Albus wants me checking in each week, so I’ll still be around,” he promised. He hesitated, swallowing and grimacing before he added, “But I won’t be needing Wolfsbane for at least a few months.”

Once a week. It was better than nothing.

And she wasn’t surprised about the potion. The others probably couldn’t afford any even if they did desire to take it. Remus needed to fit in, and it would go against pack ways to lord something like that over the rest of them, or do something that went against embracing what they were or bucking the system.

“Should you win any over, and they wish for things to be different, let them know I’ll provide it. No strings or fees,” Hermione offered. It was the only other support she could extend, in addition to the knowledge that she’d be waiting for him -- no matter what.

With a final press of his lips, a hard brush that poured a piece of his soul into her for safe keeping, and a look that swept her with the heat of a lover’s attention, Remus said farewell. His actions speaking the words neither could manage just then.

~

Hermione was still seated at the kitchen table, absently touching her lips when Sirius joined her an hour later. Never had the simple act of a kiss so thoroughly undone her. No wonder Lavender and Parvati were always gossiping about boys, acting ridiculous to attract attention, and wasting their time dating during their Hogwarts years. 

No book had been as wonderfully consuming and engaging. Just thinking about the feelings and reactions he’d evoked in her left her giddy. And she had no desire to do anything more productive than relive their time together again and again.

“You know, one of these days the two of you are going to have to get a room, or learn how to lock a door. I’m getting a bit tired of walking in on things I shouldn’t see,” Sirius teased, looking happier than he had since the day Harry arrived.

“You told him,” Hermione said bluntly.

“Had to,” Sirius said, completely unrepentant as he shrugged.

“Thank you,” Hermione said sincerely, reaching across the table to take her friend’s hand. Nothing had ever felt so right as when she’d been in Remus’s arms, and she had Sirius to thank for making it happen.

“I saw that it went well,” he said, giving her an opening to discuss things should she need it. 

Hermione decided to again ignore the implication that Sirius had walked in on them, and they’d both been too wrapped up in the other to notice, and instead say, “Yes, but…”

Words failed her. All she could do was picture Teddy’s smiling face in her mind. The young man she adored.

“But?”

It took several minutes before she could force the words out past the lump in her throat. Lump? More like shards of glass shedding her throat until blood pooled thick and hot in her chest. “Teddy. I don’t see how --”

“So he has to sleep with someone else once -- with the aid of some potions that’s all it should take. Would that really break what you two are forming?”

Hermione blinked. Remus only needed to sleep with Tonks once to conceive Teddy. Sirius was right. There were potions that were nearly infallible in helping a witch get pregnant. If not, the Pureblood lines would have died out decades, possibly centuries, ago. It was an idea she’d not considered before. Tonks only needed to get pregnant. She and Remus didn’t need to fall in love for that to happen. Muggles did it all the time. 

Could she handle that? Knowing he slept with someone else just for the sake of creating a child. Would he even be willing after the two of them had been together for a couple years? Assuming things worked out between them, of course. And she couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t, not after earlier. They were so much more compatible than she’d been with anyone else. 

And what about Tonks? Could she be talked into going along with such an insane plan? She’d been in love with Remus before. She’d desperately wanted to have his child. Would it be different if they weren’t together?

“I’d not considered it quite like that, but if it meant Teddy would still exist, then no, it wouldn’t destroy us,” Hermione said when she realized Sirius was waiting expectantly for an answer. It was easy to simply focus on her part of the equation. The rest would have to come in time.

“I figured. If not, I’d not have told him,” Sirius said smugly. “Though I bet you’re secretly wishing artificial insemination worked right about now, yeah?”

“I’d read that, but I didn’t know for sure,” Hermione murmured, intrigued.

“Oh, it works. But the resulting child is always a squib,” Sirius revealed tonelessly. Teddy definitely hadn’t been a squib. He’d been a metamorphmagus just like his mum, and a Hufflepuff to boot, but everything else about him had been Remus in miniature. “Something about our magic gets messed up in the process. It was a big deal back when I was younger and it started becoming a popular practice among Muggles, but it was hushed up. Voldemort took advantage of the results when he was first rising to power -- the dangers of mimicking Muggle ways, and how it was proof that they were the destruction of our kind, or something like that,” Sirius finished explaining, sparking her interest even more. 

It was a topic she’d only found referenced in the history books, but never explained in detail. The idea of Voldemort twisting the situation until it served his purpose made a perverse sort of sense though. That was the sort of thing he was known for doing, and yet simple-minded people still bought into it -- despite how illogical it was.

“The children --”

“All dead, I think. They were some of the Death Eaters’ first targets in the First War. Evidence of a shame on our ancient bloodlines that had to be eliminated. Remus knows a bit more about it. I think his cousin was one of the kids, but he’s never really talked about it.”

She’d have to ask for more information the next time she saw him. A week. It seemed like forever.

“I’m glad you two worked things out,” she said, realizing the tension between them had dissipated since their fight the month prior.

“Now if only I could do the same with Harry,” he muttered.

Hermione had a flash of memory. Hedwig had been hurt delivering a message to Harry from Sirius about visiting him again in the Gryffindor common room Floo. Umbridge had almost caught him, but the two had at least gotten a chance to talk first. That had happened around this time, hadn’t it?

“You Flooed him before. Why not do it again?” Hermione said casually, much to Sirius’s shock. 

He stared at her as though she’d grown a second head for daring to suggest he do something so reckless when she was usually the voice of reason or the one channeling Molly’s near constant disapproval of everything Sirius did.

“You think?” he asked hopefully, standing from the table. He hesitated, then appearing almost lost and rather unsure, murmured, “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. I… maybe... ”

“Hedwig is still upstairs,” Hermione added. “You could owl him first to expect you.” 

She watched him leave the room. The memory was clearer now. He’d contacted Harry the Monday after their Hogsmeade weekend. Guess it’d take a day or two for Sirius to gather his courage to face Harry and project a confident air when they spoke.

~

That first week, fear for Remus was a vice grip around her heart. It hadn’t helped that Sirius had glared at her on and off whenever he thought about how he’d almost been caught in the Floo. Fear of returning to Azkaban seemed to have finally sunk in and made him realize he was stuck inside Grimmauld Place. He didn’t precisely blame her for not warning him, but he wasn’t happy with her about it either. 

On the fifth day, Hermione had received a short letter from Remus.

_H,_

_I’m safe, so stop worrying._

_Yours,  
R_

She’d laughed when reading it, appreciating how predictable she’d been and his ability to make her smile and relax with just a few simple words.

He’d arrived the next morning, and after delivering a report to Mad-Eye, Kingsley, and Minerva, who was standing in for Albus while he was busy at the school, he’d sought her out in the library.

“How is it?” she asked immediately, moving easily into his waiting arms. He smelled like the outdoors, woodsy and clean, like freshly fallen snow, with a touch of sandalwood. 

“Better than I expected,” he said slowly, musing to himself as he spoke. “They’re different than I thought.”

“You’ve never really spent much time with other werewolves, have you?” she asked curiously, always eager to hear more about his life. 

He’d not mentioned ever doing so when they’d spent all that time talking during her first few weeks here, but he had not shared much about his time after James and Lily were killed and Sirius was arrested. Mostly, he’d said he kept to himself for a number of years and taken odds jobs in the Muggle world once the laws restricting his freedoms in the wizarding world were passed.

“No. Not even during the last war. Albus tried to have me infiltrate the packs then, but they were firmly allied with Voldemort, and after a sound thrashing upon arriving, they refused to speak to me at all,” he said bitterly, anger at how things had gone before ringing through. Sirius was the same way when he spoke of the First Wizarding War.

Hermione couldn’t imagine what that had been like. She’d had it bad enough, being in the thick of it, and it had only really lasted two years. The first war had gone on for eleven. And Voldemort had had a much stronger foothold the first time around. 

“What’s different this time?” Hermione asked, wondering what had changed so drastically for the packs even as she shivered beneath his questing hands. 

Werewolves were still treated every bit as poorly by the vast majority of wizarding society. Denied basic rights and freedoms that limited their potential and standard of living. Perhaps even more so recently, ever since Umbridge was promoted at the Ministry.

Absently, Remus’s fingers played with a strand of her honey curls. Tingles erupted across her scalp as he twirled the lock around his finger as he spoke, voice raspy and soft. “Harry. They know Voldemort was defeated by a baby before. And Harry has Albus on his side, so Voldemort isn’t the safe bet anymore. Werewolves value strength and dominance, and Voldemort doesn’t have either on his side anymore.”

“Because he’s forced to remain hidden in the shadows, working behind the scenes since the Ministry is pretending he hasn’t returned,” Hermione said, seeing the direction he was headed.

“Exactly,” Remus said, chuckling a little at her quick understanding. “That’s actually working in our favor in this aspect, if not others.”

“Voldemort may be trying to gain allies, but his means of doing so right now doesn’t appeal to the packs,” Remus added, sounding almost surprised by how reasonable and logical they were being. He shouldn’t be though. They really weren’t that different from him, or even the average person. Not at their root.

“They’re willing to listen to you, but is it enough?” Hermione asked. 

So many had shown up towards the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. Many Hermione had never met, and not seen since. How many were werewolves that Remus recruited, but had stayed out of the spotlight because of their condition?

“It’s too soon to tell,” Remus said, sighing tiredly. “I’m still establishing myself as one of them.”

“You’re a natural leader. They’ll recognize that before too long.” The more she thought about it, the more she believed that. During the First Wizarding War, werewolves openly sided with Voldemort and did his bidding. During the Second Wizarding War, only Greyback was known to serve him. Not even his pack did -- shockingly. It was very possible that Remus deserved the credit for that, but much of the information was lost with his death, and the deaths of those most in the know about his actions. 

“Would you mind if we didn’t talk anymore?” he asked meaningfully, sliding his hand down to squeeze her hip.

Hermione shifted to see his face, and was met with a hungry look in his eyes.

“How much longer do you have?” she breathed, mouth gone dry in the wake of his desire.

“An hour. Two at most,” he murmured regretfully.

“Let’s not waste it,” she suggested, going up on her toes to meet him halfway for an ardent kiss.

~

The next couple weeks passed in much the same way. The only difference during the most recent visit, was that she and Remus didn’t have any time alone after his briefing with Albus and Kingsley. Instead, they shared a few glasses of firewhiskey with Kingsley and Sirius in honor of Sirius’s birthday that had happened earlier in the week. Hermione couldn’t begrudge him the time with his friend, even if she would have rather spent the time in his arms.

Tonks had arrived after her shift guarding the prophecy, and with her appearance, Sirius had opened a brand new bottle of firewhiskey for the two to indulge in. They’d ended up spending half the night celebrating in the kitchen, and he was still sleeping off the lingering effects. 

Hermione was beginning to get concerned with the amount Sirius was drinking. He had nothing else to occupy his time, and he was suffering from both depression and PTSD. Being locked up in this particular house didn’t help the situation any either. It was just one more thing to sort out. Add it to her list.

That afternoon, while Sirius was still abed, she received another letter from Remus. He’d sent a couple during the last month, all brief because his focus was on his mission and it would be dangerous if the missive was intercepted, but a few were better than nothing. If only they could use Patronuses, but with his deeper integration with the pack, they’d decided that would be unwise.

_H,_

_I miss you. Last night I dreamed of your smile, and regretted not enjoying your mouth yesterday._

_Yours,  
R_

Her heart sped when she read his letter and the provocative statement, initially mistaking the innuendo for more than the absence of snogging that he was actually alluding to. There had been no opportunity to properly explore one another since they’d embarked on a relationship. Not unless they were willing to settle for a hurried coupling before he rushed off again, and neither had seemed particularly keen on that.

The flush infusing her face with an exorbitant amount of heat took several minutes to fade as she contemplated what being with Remus physically would be like. Sexual tension was steadily building each week as they passionately reunited for far too brief interludes over the last four weeks. Soon, Hermione was certain she’d say to hell with it, and beg him to make love to her. Or at least something more substantial.

“If you are done drooling over that letter, I have potions that I could use your assistance on,” Severus drawled coolly.

Hermione blinked, startled by the dark man’s sudden appearance as he broke into her reverie. Confused, she asked, “Potions?”

“If I wished to gaze upon an infatuated, love-struck girl, who had lost her wits over a boy, I could have stayed at the school,” he replied, lips curling in disgust at the idea.

“You want help brewing potions,” Hermione said slowly, not trusting that she’d properly worked out the reason for his visit. “For the school?” she added, seeking clarification.

“Did that letter wipe all common sense from your brain?” he demanded, crossing his arms disapprovingly.

“Sorry, but don’t you ordinarily keep the hospital wing well stocked?”

“That toad ruined the lot ‘inspecting’ my work,” he hissed furiously. His hair had a slight sheen of grease as he roughly tucked a strand behind his ear, though it almost immediately fell forward to conceal a large portion of his face. “As though any potion I made would ever be substandard or inferior to those sold in any apothecary shop.”

Understanding finally dawned on Hermione. Umbridge was inspecting the teachers, searching for any evidence that they were more loyal to Albus than the Ministry. Probably, she’d been trying to provoke a reaction from Severus by questioning his skill or looking for examples that he was providing the school with non-Ministry sanctioned potions. 

“Too bad you can’t just poison her. We’d all be better off,” Hermione muttered, despising the foul woman more than ever after hearing about a few of the run-ins she’d had with Remus.

“Perhaps an unfortunate accident could occur with her morning tea,” Severus rejoined, lips twitching at her reaction.

“Now there’s an idea with merit. But you were saying something about helping you brew potions?” Hermione prompted.

“If you’re not too busy,” he sneered, glancing disparagingly at the letter she still clutched.

Hermione looked pointedly around her empty surroundings. Her work for the Order was sparse, Albus concerned over her having undue influence over events given her circumstantial insight. Understandable, except it left her with little to occupy her time, and she wasn’t used to being this idle.

“I’ll brew as many as you can use,” she volunteered, getting to her feet and tucking the letter safely in her pocket.

“Excellent. I have a list,” he announced grandly, producing a foot-long sheet of parchment covered in the names of various healing potions.

Several hours later, Hermione wiped the wilted, clinging strands of her sweaty hair off her forehead. The combined fumes from the six cauldrons, each in a different stage of completion were beginning to give her a headache. How did Severus handle his classroom day in and day out with some of the truly potent ingredients some of the potions called for, and the many disastrous mistakes the students were prone to making? 

“I’ll be by before lunch tomorrow to collect them,” he murmured, having already explained that he’d come to her for help because he had a Death Eater meeting later that night, and would need to report to Albus afterwards, leaving no time to make the various potions before they were likely to be needed unless he had help.

Currently, he was finishing labeling the Skele-Gro bottles while she continued stirring the Calming Draught. They’d gotten into a routine early on where he’d quiz her over the proper instructions and procedures of brewing a potion while they prepared the necessary ingredients, cutting, grinding, measuring and shredding. Then, while the mixture was simmering or maturing, they’d begin on the next, somehow working even more seamlessly together than they had when making the Wolfsbane Potion.

“Perfect. That should give me enough time to tackle the Dreamless Sleep as well,” she replied, wiping her forehead again. With so many cauldrons simmering, it was exceedingly hot in the small potion lab.

“Whom were you mooning over -- earlier?” he asked suddenly.

Hermione burst into laughter at the wording of the statement. He scowled ferociously in response to her reaction.

“You nailed it -- mooning,” she explained, unsuccessfully swallowing the random giggle still trying to escape. Even just thinking about Remus made her ridiculously happy. 

Hermione watched as surprise slowly replaced his twisted grimace, but he refrained from commenting. She appreciated the restraint, assuming he’d have nothing pleasant to say about her choice in love interests. Not that she exactly blamed him.

~

Another month ticked slowly by. Snow was beginning to fall, the tiny white flakes sticking to the ground and forming a sludgy, grey mush along the edge of the sidewalk where it met the road. Winter had finally arrived in truth, bringing with it frigid temperatures and brisk winds that rattled the window panes ominously throughout the night. 

Hermione wished she could go skiing. She used to go every year with her family. They’d have to drag her away from her books, but in the end, it was always worth it. Even if she’d pretended to hate it to keep Harry, who’d never had the opportunity, and Ron, who’d never had the funds, from feeling jealous. Not to mention how much the simple fact that she no longer could go, meant she wished to all the more. Besides, skiing was a way to experience the sensation of flying, but while her feet were planted firmly, safely, on the ground.

Severus had continued bringing by lists of various potions for her to brew, and she was grateful for the regular distraction and work. At least twice a week he’d stay and teach her a new one. Sometimes he’d open his mouth, ready to inquire about precisely why she’d not learned a particular potion when they both knew it was part of the seventh year curriculum, but then he’d simply shake his head and go about instructing her in the proper way to make it.

She’d just come out of the loo, having needed to wash the scent of Billywig Sting Slime from her hair when she was pinned against the wall of the hall just outside her room. The now familiar taste and overwhelming presence of Remus assailed her senses as he savaged her mouth. 

His fingers spanned her rib cage, gliding up to gently mold the globes of her breasts. 

“Oh,” she gasped, the cry swallowed up by his mouth even as his fingers caught the budded peak of her nipple through her thin camisole. She’d not bothered putting her bra back on after her shower, and she was abruptly grateful since it meant she could fully appreciate his attentions to her body. He tweaked it, just enough to have her hips jerking, pressing forward to rub against his.

Remus crowded her further against the wall, continuing to ravish her mouth and tease her breasts. The thick length of his hardness pressed firmly into her stomach, and Hermione dragged her hands down his back, nails scratching lightly as they went before cupping and squeezing the firm roundness of his butt with each hand.

“Aghhss,” he hissed, jerking away with his back bowing in a rough arch. 

“What happened?” she asked, craning her head to see. A blood stain, bright as a ruby, was steadily spreading along his lower back, the brilliant red mark rapidly growing as she took in the sight of it.

Remus shook his head, but Hermione caught his hand and pulled him into her room. When he just stood there, she instructed, “Shirt off and sit.”

He didn’t protest, but he ducked his head and angled his body slightly away as he tugged the shirt over his head and took a seat on her bed -- the only available place to sit in her room.

Hermione’s mouth went dry at the sight of his chiseled physique. 

Rangy would be the best way to describe Remus’s overall build. Long limbs and lanky, possibly even wiry, was the general mistaken impression his loose robes gave. But underneath, the reality was that he was all solid, well-defined muscle. Each ridge bulged, threatening to burst from beneath his ivory skin. 

Then there were the scars patterned across every inch of exposed flesh. Some layered two or even three deep. The long white lines were barely visible, but Hermione knew what to look for. She had enough scars of her own to spot them easily. They didn’t detract from his perfection, just told a story -- much as her own body did.

Quickly, Hermione retreated to the bathroom to get supplies to treat his fresh wounds as she got a grip on herself before returning to him.

This wasn’t the first time Remus had overwhelmed her during one of his visits, but each time had left her flushed and dizzy, longing for more than they had time to properly indulge in. Their first few months together, they’d easily established an emotional connection. Now they were developing a physical one every bit as powerful, and each week seemed to take tortuous foreplay to the next level.

“Sorry, the moon is still riding me,” he said dully, refusing to look at her as she knelt beside him, dabbing some of the cream she’d recently made with Severus along the length of the wound. She assumed the injury had been a result of the night before or he’d have already healed it himself.

Severus had surprised her with the salve recipe the week before. It was a special mixture used in the care of treating werewolf-inflicted wounds. The two primary ingredients being powdered silver and dittany. Again, he’d not said a word about her choice of partner, just provided a kindness to aid her in helping him. He was a good friend, even if he was loath to admit that that was what they were.

“You didn’t hear me complaining, did you?” Hermione said easily, brushing a kiss over his exposed shoulder blade. Remus’s head turned, and he smiled, though she sensed he was still a little uncertain. “And I don’t have the full moon as an excuse,” she added, flushing at the memory of how his hands had felt on her.

“I wish we had time to continue,” he said achingly. 

“Me too,” she sighed.

They’d talked about their sexual histories during one of his other visits. Remus had admitted that it wasn’t very extensive, having only ever been with Muggle women due to his condition, and never with the same one more than once or twice. Mostly because he’d not had an emotional connection, so therefore had not seen the point. He’d also been worried because the moon tended to have an impact on sexual appetites. Enhancing them around the moon, and urging the wolf to stake a permanent, lasting claim. These factors had made him worried about scaring a partner off.

If their sojourn in the hallway had been a preview, Hermione was completely on board for anything and everything related to Remus. His passions had easily rivaled her own.

It felt like a betrayal to admit, but sex with Ron had been boring, perfunctory. Awkward might actually describe it best, especially at first when they’d both been learning. Then, as they got into a rhythm, it was impossible to miss, but they’d had no real passion. Viktor Krum had been better. His experience playing a significant factor in that. They’d tried dating for a year after it didn’t work with Ron, but in the end, they’d not had enough in common and couldn’t handle the distance.

After that, every other lover she’d had was only just all right. Nothing spectacular. Hermione hadn’t been able to get out of her own head enough to enjoy it and really let go. Apparently, that wasn’t to be a problem with Remus. He consumed her. Totally and completely.

“How did it happen?” she asked, applying more of the medicated cream to the smaller wounds higher on his back.

“I moved up in rank last night,” Remus said without inflection. She understood what he really meant. He’d won any number of fights. His rank increased with each victory, along with his influence.

“How many are in the pack?” she asked, realizing she’d not thought to ask before now.

“Twenty-six. This is the largest in Britain by a wide margin, but also the most tame,” he acknowledged, looking at the clean, white strip of bandage Hermione was wrapping securely around his middle, and amended, “relatively speaking.”

“How many packs are there in Britain?” Hermione asked, thinking she already knew the answer, but wanting to keep him talking. Severus had warned that the salve would hurt for the first few minutes as the silver entered his bloodstream.

“Five,” Remus gasped, pain lancing the word.

“So many?” Hermione gasped, truly unsettled to have her research and knowledge be so woefully inaccurate.

“There were only two when I was a child. Greyback is responsible for the increased numbers,” Remus gritted out, accepting her hands when she took his in her own much smaller ones, and squeezing helplessly.

“I only knew of two when I was working with the Ministry. But now I think the others were still there, only hidden. It would have been nice to be able to help them,” Hermione admitted, silently offering him all of her strength. The pain should only last a minute or two at most. Afterwards, the wounds would be significantly healed and far less prone to scarring. 

“You still can. The future hasn’t happened yet,” Remus reminded her, bending to place a tender kiss just beneath her ear.

He pulled her into his lap, the pain seeming to have subsided right on cue, and he nuzzled her neck. The action reminded her of wolves scent marking, but she was probably attributing the qualities because she was actively seeking the associations. Plus, it was nice to see him relaxing more around her. It had been steadily happening more and more each week.

“I have a house,” Remus announced suddenly, their time together waning quickly.

“Remus?”

“If at any point you would like to move there. It would give you more freedom,” he explained, keeping his mouth against her neck as he spoke to avoid looking at her.

“We can’t leave Sirius here alone,” she murmured, her heart pounding faster as she understood the significance of his offer. “But one day.” Maybe even one day soon.

“Thank you for caring about him,” he said thickly.

“He’s family,” Hermione said, tipping his chin up to capture his lips in a kiss that said more than words could ever hope to convey.


	10. 10: Union

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 10: Union

December 1995

Grimmauld Place

With the arrival of December came the return of Sirius’s high spirits. His primary focus once more returned to Harry. He’d finally stopped badgering her about the future, but he did want to hear all about how Harry’s year was going since he didn’t have a way to contact Harry himself.

“What’s this Cho like? Tonks wasn’t overly impressed when she saw her in the Hog’s Head,” Sirius inquired eagerly.

“Spineless,” Hermione said truthfully, pursing her lips before adding, “if you judge a person based on the company they keep.”

“Harsh,” Sirius said, whistling long and low. He also looked strangely impressed by her critical assessment.

“She was with Cedric last year, and she’s not really over him yet, but she fancies Harry. And Harry fancies her, but not enough to actively pursue her, or have anything meaningful to say when he is around her,” Hermione explained, summing up the entirety of their ‘relationship’ with a few words. 

Of course, that didn’t include what happened after the war, but that was another story best saved for a later time.

“So just a physical attraction. Got it,” Sirius said, cottoning on as only a former teenage boy could. “And Remus said Ginny had herself a bloke?”

Hermione gave him a confused look, suspicious that he was fishing for information. How had he deduced that Harry ended up with Ginny?

“The first day, when you mentioned James Sirius,” Sirius began, pausing to smirk at the name, “a trouble-maker in the making if ever I heard one.” Hermione snorted at the undeniable truth in the statement. “But anyways, that day, you said Harry and Gin. How many other Gin’s would Harry be likely to fall for? Plus, Potters have a thing for redheads.”

“Gin’s not the type to sit around and wait. I mean, you’ve met her. She’s a force of nature, that one. Harry didn’t see her, so she decided to live her own life,” Hermione stated, knowing this, at least, had already happened, and was therefore safe to share.

“It got his attention, didn’t it?” Sirius said, nodding and smirking in a way that had Hermione rolling her eyes exasperatedly. Boys! They never really grew up, did they?

“More, it allowed her to be comfortable enough around him to be herself. And that will be more than enough to gain his notice in time,” she said a touch stiffly, defensive on Ginny’s behalf. It wasn’t like her every action had been with the purpose of winning over Harry. They just naturally suited.

“And what’s he like as a teacher?” Sirius said, switching topics once he realized he was treading in dangerous water.

“He thrives. You should see how good he is at commanding a room,” Hermione said, a touch wonderingly. It was a fact about Harry, and one that had only increased with time and confidence.

“I wish I could,” Sirius said wistfully.

“Maybe Albus will let us borrow his Pensieve,” Hermione said tentatively, an idea for a future endeavor starting to take shape in her mind even as she made the suggestion. If she really did plan on saving Sirius, she’d need to study her memories if she wanted to come up with a plan. Other memories too for other changes… “My Christmas gift to you.”

“You could --”

“Only show you memories of Harry at school this year? Yes, I agree that it would be too dangerous to show anything else,” Hermione said pointedly, cutting in when the feverish light illuminating Sirius’s face brought her up short. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to suggest showing him any of her memories, but it was too late now to do anything about it.

“Speaking of… Think Harry would like a new pair of Quidditch gloves? Or maybe a practice Snitch? James used to have one that we used in the dorms. He loved showing off with it,” Sirius questioned, getting lost in his reminiscing as he set down his ever-present tumbler of firewhiskey and reached for the Quidditch magazine resting on the side table instead. Hermione could see a couple pieces of paper sticking out the top where Sirius had no doubt marked specific pages for this very topic.

“Try some Defense books,” Hermione suggested.

“Books are boring!” Sirius groaned, letting his head fall back dramatically. He sat up quickly, and taking note of her expression, quickly said, “Er -- no offense.”

“He still has them,” Hermione revealed, knowing the books Sirius and Remus had gotten him were in his office in the future, some of his most treasured, not to mention useful, possessions.

“Books it is,” Sirius said, nodding as he gave in without further argument. 

~

Remus and Hermione had been together for three months, but all told, they’d only spent a total of a little over two days together if the time from each visit was added up. Oddly enough, that was actually more time together than she’d spent with Ron during their first three months together.

When the pair of them got together during the Battle of Hogwarts, she’d begun making arrangements to search for her parents as soon as she woke from the aftermath, and Ron had been busy helping his family and George cope with Fred’s death. They’d left for the Burrow almost immediately upon waking, while Hermione had gone to London to arrange for a Portkey to Australia. It had seemed so pressing at the time. The sense of urgency rivaling the need to keep busy and moving, lest the true scale of what the war had cost them would register.

That had been the theme of her life since the war. Just keep moving forward. Don’t dwell. Don’t ever stop long enough to feel the magnitude of loss. Ginny swore it would catch up to her one day and she’d regret not taking the time to process things. Mrs. Weasley said much the same, and had spent three years trying to convince her to see a therapist.

Needless to say, Hermione had insisted that it wasn’t necessary and that she’d be just fine on her own.

But that was how her postwar life had begun. Her departure was postponed only a day. Just long enough to attend the single large funeral that had been held on the Hogwarts grounds so everyone could be present for those lost. Then she’d left that evening. She had been gone for three months, and then she only returned to the Burrow for a day before heading back to Hogwarts where she spent a month studying and sitting her exams.

Her relationship with Viktor Krum hadn’t been much different either when she’d dated him after Ron. They’d resided in different countries and seen each other only on average of once a month for the entire year they’d dated. Neither of them had been willing to sacrifice their careers for the other and move to a different country for a more permanent arrangement. So in the end, they’d decided to split amicably. 

The same thing had happened with Julien, her French counterpart in France’s Ministry, and her longest relationship to date. Nearly three years. They’d met while working to draft legislation that would give the giants that had returned to France after the war a bit more space to settle in, and therefore hopefully prevent them from wiping themselves out of existence through infighting. They’d both understood from the onset that their careers came first, their relationship second. Except that never changed, and eventually, it just became a hassle to maintain a long-distance relationship. 

She’d never minded not seeing any of them regularly. There were enough other things going on in her life that she’d been too busy to miss them, or reflect on how that wasn’t a good sign if she was actually serious about any one of them. 

Honestly, having a crush during her time at Hogwarts had been more fun than engaging in a real relationship. Relationships took a great deal of time and energy. Both of which she’d always preferred devoting elsewhere, to more important endeavors.

It was completely different with Remus. She missed him. So much it ached. A dozen times a day something happened that she longed to tell him about. Everything from wishing to hear his thoughts on a theory she’d read about to sharing the clever taunts or amusing anecdotes Sirius relayed at dinner. 

Hermione knew part of it was her limited interactions with the outside world and the unplanned step away from her career. But mostly, it was Remus. The way he truly listened to her, devoting a hundred percent of his attention to taking in what she had to say. The intricate and compassionate way his mind worked. The way his touch made her feel alive, and actually want to waste hours snogging rather than being productive.

A while back, Hermione had mentioned all of this to Remus. Once he’d found his voice, he’d asked her to start writing it all down. Everything she longed to say to him, and anytime she missed him. So she had. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize she was penning him love letters. Letters vastly different from the ones she used to send Viktor or even Julien. These contained pieces of her heart, in addition to her mind. And they were all for Remus.

The daily letters were currently sitting in a box with the new pale blue winter cloak Hermione had gotten Remus for Christmas with the money Albus had begun paying her for stocking the school’s hospital wing.

At first, Hermione had been confused how he even knew, but when she’d asked Severus about it when he stopped in to pick up the latest supply she’d brewed, he’d merely said, “Is he? I should hope he’s paying you sufficiently considering the rate those ungrateful imbeciles go through some of these.”

There had been such a knowing about him, with his smug look when she brought it up. She’d nearly hugged him in gratitude for making sure she was being properly looked after while her means were so heavily restricted. Only the knowledge that he’d curse her should she try stopped her from acting on the impulse. 

And considering her room and board were covered, she was actually managing to save more than she’d been before the time travel disaster. 

The rent for her London flat had been outrageous, but she’d wanted to be close to Harry and Ron, both of whom lived within a few blocks of her. Maybe Neville was correct in his assessment that they were a bit codependent on each other...

Hermione glanced at the clock impatiently. Remus was due any minute to give his weekly report. He’d sent a missive the day before telling her to expect him, and letting her know he had a surprise for her. A million possibilities raced through her mind over what that surprise could possibly be, thoroughly distracting her.

“Granger? Granger!” Mad-Eye called, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

“Hmm? Sorry, you were saying?” she asked, flushing at being caught daydreaming. Sirius didn’t even try to hide his bark of laughter at her getting called out. Stupid mutt.

“Granger, I was asking if you minded taking a look at these,” Moody said gruffly, his magical eye spinning dizzily as he waved a massive pile of newspapers about an inch from her nose.

Hermione accepted them, a few falling to the table as she tried to gather them into a neat and orderly stack. They were Muggle newspapers from France and even a few from Britain. Flipping through, she could see that they represented towns from across both areas.

“What am I looking for?” she asked, scanning the headlines.

“Signs that the giants are on the move,” Moody said briskly. “Hagrid returned last month saying they’d decided to side with Voldemort, but I don’t want to be taken unawares when they show up here. I’m going to start having them delivered here directly.”

Remus arrived, entering the room calmly, and claiming the majority of Hermione’s attention. He was very pale, evidence of his recent transformation etched into the tired lines around his eyes and his robes were a little more rumpled than normal. Looser too. But those same eyes lit with searing heat when they locked on her, while a smile flirted with the corners of his mouth.

“Severus gathers that Voldemort wishes to have them in place and prepared to strike when the time is right, but only Macnair knows the specifics currently,” Albus added, pursing his lips and bowing his head as he contemplated the expected destruction and devastation to come. Hermione was sad to note the familiar twinkle in his sky blue eyes seemed to have gone out entirely, and she wasn’t sure it’d ever return again. 

“I’ll let you know if I find anything,” Hermione promised, glancing at Sirius to see if he’d help too, particularly if she was to be getting a fresh stack daily, but she noticed he was rather preoccupied with the glass of firewhiskey that he’d just poured for himself. 

Her lips pursed at the sight. She had to find a way to put a stop to that. His alcohol intake had steadily increased as the length of his confinement grew.

He’d been in a worse mood since Molly informed him that Harry would be staying at the Burrow for Christmas instead of Grimmauld Place a few weeks earlier. That statement had been followed with a reminder that it was too dangerous for Sirius to leave Grimmauld Place, and therefore wasn’t invited to join them. Hermione knew Molly wasn’t being deliberately cruel. Probably, she didn’t even realize the blow she’d dealt the man. But Hermione had been around to witness the aftermath.

It had gotten so bad a few days ago, that Hermione had broken her silence to tell him that he’d still see Harry, but he’d waved her off and said something about how her being around had probably altered what she remembered. She’d given up arguing, and decided to just let him see for himself. Even if that meant allowing him to consume the entire contents of a well-stocked pub in the meantime.

“Please tell us you have some good news to impart, Remus,” Albus prompted, a soft look crossing his face as he correctly interpreted the looks Remus and Hermione were exchanging.

Hermione had forgotten what a supporter Albus was of love. While she and Remus weren’t precisely hiding their relationship from those that knew she was there, they weren’t broadcasting it either. The primary reason being that there were more pressing matters to discuss during most of the Order member visits, or someone was around that didn’t know about her, so he had to remain silent on the subject while she locked herself away.

“I do,” Remus confirmed, then qualified, “at least in part.”

Hermione glanced at Remus again, to find he was already watching her. The pair exchanged grins, each having looked forward to the conclusion of this meeting all week. Hermione doubted she’d ever get her fill of spending time with Remus.

“Well? We haven’t got all day to wait on you mooning over Granger,” Mad-Eye said curtly, rapting the table with his fist to make his point and hurry the report along.

A flush stole over her face, mirroring the one on Remus’s as they were reprimanded like children.

“They’ve agreed not to join the ranks of Death Eaters,” Remus said hoarsely, pausing to clear his throat and take a sip of the heavily sweetened tea Hermione passed to him. He smiled in gratitude, slightly inclining his head.

“But?” Sirius asked impatiently.

“They won’t side with us either. Not without guarantees that the current laws will be revoked and new protections put in place,” Remus concluded. Disappointment descended over the assembled group, though this response was by no means unexpected. Remus had said all along that incentives would play a significant role in determining which side the non-wizard members of the magical community would pick to support. 

“I suppose that is the best we could hope for given the circumstances,” Albus said, inhaling a deep breath and clasping his hands before him as he nodded absently, likely readjusting plans in his head at the news, ever the strategist. “You did well, and the timing has worked out beautifully. Finally, a point in our favor.”

Hermione shot Remus a questioning look. What did Albus mean by timing? Remus winked, grinning unabashedly at her frustration.

As soon as the meeting broke up, Remus took her hand to lead her from the room.

“Well?” Hermione asked, eager to know if Albus’s words had anything to do with the surprise Remus hinted at in his letter.

“In a moment,” he teased, taking the stairs two at a time as he pulled her behind him. All the way up to her bedroom.

As soon as the door shut behind her, he spun and dragged her into his arms, stealing a heart-stopping kiss. Hermione melted against him, her limbs turning boneless in the face of the passion infused caress.

“Albus wishes me to remain here for the holiday to provide extra security for Harry throughout his stay -- Sirius hasn’t yet been told of the change in plans,” Remus began, dipping his head to nuzzle her throat, sliding his lips over the slender column. The rough stubble on his cheeks lightly scratched the delicate skin, making her breath catch at the sensation. “Hmm,” he groaned in response, then continued, “Harry and the Weasley’s are coming on Christmas Day, and spending the remaining two weeks of break here.”

Hermione’s head fell back when Remus concluded his statement by grazing her flesh with his teeth, shivers coursing through her. She knew they’d be arriving sooner than that, but again, knowing Arthur would ultimately be fine, she chose not to say anything. Preserving the timeline and not creating unknown, and far reaching ripples that were dangerous, too important. Imperative even. 

“How long do we have?” she gasped, the rest of his words penetrating the haze of pleasure his touch had buffered her in.

“I will need to check in with the pack before the next moon to ensure nothing has changed, but aside from that, I will be working here for at least a month,” he said raspily, speaking while Hermione kissed a path up his neck, finishing with a light nip of his earlobe. His hips bucked against hers at the feel of her teeth. 

“So you don’t need to rush off?” she confirmed, closing her mouth around the lobe and tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue.

“No,” he breathed heavily, wrapping his arms tighter about her.

Their lips met again, searching and finding their mark. Magnets pulled together with a force greater than gravity. Tongues tangled, running sensually along one another’s.

“The moon was last night. I’m in less control than usual,” Remus warned, sliding his hands down to grip her hips, holding her in place as he pressed his erection against her core. He was hot and hard, even through their combined robes.

“It’s still like that? Even now that you’re away from the others?” Hermione gasped, gripping his back as her hips rocked against his length, seeking friction as need filled her.

“Yes,” he groaned, the sound nearly a growl.

“What does it feel like?” she asked breathily, clutching onto any part of him she could reach, needing to anchor herself before reality fled.

“Like these clothes are too damn confining,” he stated bluntly.

Hermione took a deep breath to regain some semblance of herself, and released her clenching hold on his back to reach between them and begin slowly unbuttoning his robes. “We should probably remove them then. No sense in being uncomfortable,” Hermione rasped, anticipation snaring her senses. 

His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her fingers as he let her unfasten his clothes, helpfully shrugging out of the robes once she’d finished. His eyes were riveted on her progress as she treated his collared shirt to the same treatment.

With each button that came free of the hole holding the material closed, Hermione leaned forward to brush a kiss over the exposed skin. Remus shuttered under her touch, his fingers spasming on her hips.

His scars received special attention, the puckered skin at the edges being granted lingering kisses. Hermione knew from her own scars that the skin in that region would be particularly sensitive. Each shudder seemed a confirmation, imploring her to continue her reveal and exploration.

He stopped her questing mouth when she bent to follow the progress of her nimble fingers freeing the lowest buttons of his shirt and the button of his pants. The tip of his erection sprang free, but he distracted her before she could properly appreciate it. His fingers cupped her chin gently, tipping her head up to meet his eyes, a silent question screaming from their depths. 

“What else are your instincts telling you?” she asked once his shirt was completely undone, and when it became apparent he couldn’t admit what he wanted to ask.

“Telling? You mean demanding,” he corrected, snorting at the truth behind the statement.

“Yes,” she agreed, realizing her hormones were screaming at her as well, desperate for more. For all of him. The sooner the better at that. Only his hold was keeping her upright even as the fingers of one hand reached to stroke and fist his rigid length. His skin was hot velvet over hard steel.

“That I taste you,” Remus admitted, rocking unconsciously into her hand.

Hermione threaded the fingers of her free hand in the gold-blond strands, every shade of sand and honey, and sunlight brushing her hand as she drew him down for an earth-shattering, soul-wrenching kiss. 

Quickly, Remus took over, plundering her mouth with a voracious need that matched her own. His hands ran over her body, seeking, caressing, delivering tantalizing pleasure that left her wanting more as she continued stroking him, relishing in how his hips continued to buck helplessly into her hand.

“Remus,” she begged, arching into the hands suddenly cupping her breasts.

“I want to taste every inch of you. I want to bury my head between your legs,” he rasped, the words torn from him.

“Please,” Hermione begged, wanting him just as much.

“I can smell your arousal, and you wouldn’t believe how delicious a scent you have,” he growled, hand cupping and kneading her breasts with more deliberation.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, having not considered his enhanced senses. She was already ridiculously wet for him, but his words amplified her desire tenfold.

Her clothes were quickly shed, much faster than his had been, then she was tumbling flat on her back on the bed with a startled giggle while Remus braced himself over her, his arms and legs on either side of her body, and began trailing burning kisses down her throat and across her chest.

“I would know all of you,” he murmured, touching first the large scar on her chest, then the vicious word carved into her arm, and finally one of the larger burns near her elbow, “in time. When you’re ready to share the full of your past.”

“Later. It can wait. Right now, I’m not so sure I can.” He chuckled at the naked need in both her voice and her words, enjoying his undeniable effect on her.

“Yes, later,” he agreed. 

Remus returned to kissing her neck, inching lower with each open press of his soft lips. He paused to feast on her breasts, tonguing her nipples, first one and then the other, and tugging on the sensitive peaks with lips and teeth. For several minutes, he worshipped her, encouraged by her moans and her hands in his hair, on his shoulders and chest, anywhere she could reach. Hermione’s back arched in response, rising to meet the wet heat of his mouth. Nearly desperate for more. 

All the while, their hips pressed together, rubbing deliberately and creating exquisite friction that hinted at what was to come. Every touch was sensual and electric, firing her up further and increasing her need. 

Ecstasy brushed over her skin, a tropical breeze, igniting every place his fingers journeyed, lavishing attention, as her system went into overdrive. Her skin a million times more sensitive under his hands than it had ever been before. The difference was that she was finally being touched by the right person. 

“Remus, please. I want you,” Hermione begged, dragging in a ragged breath when his lips detached, skimming down over her stomach with feather-light kisses, his tongue pausing to trace an erotic figure eight around her belly button. “Mhh.”

His hips bucked against her in response to her moan, his shaft hardening to an even thicker length of fire against her leg where it rested. Remus’s hands continued softly kneading one plump mound of her breasts while flicking the budded tip of the other. 

“Yes,” he groaned, inhaling, and no doubt further scenting her arousal as he progressed farther south, moving to position himself between her spread knees.

“Please,” she gasped throatily, and he placed a gentle kiss on each of her inner thighs.

“Yes,” he repeated, moving to brush his lips against the apex, the movement of his mouth a tantalizing, tickling brush against the sensitive nub.

“More!” she gasped, bucking against his face at the teasing glimpse he gave her. It was impossible for her not to move, twisting her hips in search of what she wanted.

His tongue lapped at her, tracing a teasing line up along her slit from her entrance to her clit. Hermione’s hips once again pressed forward seeking more contact when he reached the sensitive button. He gave her what her body silently demanded, focusing his efforts there. Sealing his lips against her, he flicked his tongue quickly, deliberately over her in little patterns of figure eights, mimicking what he’d done earlier against her stomach. Only it was so much more erotic in this new location.

“Mmh,” Hermione whimpered, gasping when his hand trailed up her leg, moving slowly towards her core. Teasingly, he circled her slit, dipping the tip of his finger inside her entrance before dragging it up slowly to replace his tongue in circling her clit. Her hips jerked, lifting off the bed and pushing against his hand, seeking out still more contact until he finally slipped first one, then two fingers into her tight channel. “Yes, Remus,” she panted, “there.” 

Remus worked his fingers in and out of her slick heat. Slowly at first, then faster, pumping his fingers into her then curling the tips to hit the spot that made her gasp and buck helplessly beneath him with each sure plunge. When his tongue returned to lap at her little bundle of nerves, Hermione’s vision swam with little black dots, dancing like drunken bumblebees.

“More, Remus, please. Please,” Hermione keened, a desperate plea as tension coiling within her. Every muscle tightened, contracting more and more. An elevator rising, higher and higher. The air thinned until more black dots speckled her vision. 

Then Hermione was plummeting, the cables cut and the elevator falling through a rain of sparking fireworks, bliss and ecstasy crescendoing in a wave of pleasure. Release flooded her system until she lost all control of herself.

“Remus, augh!” she cried, marvelling as her inner muscles fluttered rapidly against his fingers. He drew her climax from her as long as he could. His movements slowed, drawing every last drop of pleasure from her before he withdrew.

Shedding his pants as well, Remus climbed back up beside her, pulling her close. She clung to him, burying her face in his neck, and kissing it gently. He tasted of honey and passion and unfulfilled desire as her tongue flicked over his erratic pulse. Her body seemed boneless, molding itself to his as he held her tightly. 

“Hermione?” he breathed, seeking permission to continue even as he kissed her cheek and his hands skated over her body. Her hand fluttered against his back where it lay limp, unable to find purchase on his corded muscles. She tried again, this time managing to pull him towards her.

“I want you,” she gasped, using words to convey her desires when he continued to hesitate. “All of you.” The confession was enough to spur him into action. 

He was over her in an instant, settling between her parted thighs and plunging in, all hesitation having evaporated. His entire length sunk into her, joining them completely. Perfectly interlocking pieces, always meant to be connected. Remus pulled back only to slide back in, the friction exquisite, and leaving her light-headed.

Her fingers clutched at his muscular shoulders as she held him tighter to her, the sound of his breath catching, a drug to her senses. His lips found her neck. Hot, wet kisses that marked her as his and caused her pulse to jump, her rapid heartbeat pounding irregularly. 

“You’re mine. You’re perfect,” he exhaled, breathing the words into her skin. “So perfect. Never expected or dreamed…”

A fast, frenzied tempo took them over. A desperate need urging their hips to rock faster, harder, renewing the tension from before and winding it tighter. Tighter. Tighter still. Sensations flitted over Remus’s face, so telling Hermione could read them as easily as any book. And what she saw was like looking in a mirror, because she was experiencing all the same things. 

“Remus, please, I need you,” she begged, clutching onto him. He seemed unwilling to deny her request, needing her just as much.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, holding on even as her legs wrapped around his waist, allowing her to move with him and lift to meet his thrusts. All the while their hands roamed, petting, caressing, stirring the other. Lingering kisses landed on whatever surface their mouths could reach, occasionally finding their partner to sip and savor, tongues dueling. 

“Hermione,” Remus whispered, locking eyes with her as he slowed his frantic pace to stare at her in wonder. “Never go,” he said brokenly.

Automatically, her hands came up, reaching towards him, and he caught her hands in his, entwining their fingers. Slowly, deliberately, he rolled his hips, making her whimper and moan with need.

Then they were rocketing forward once more. Shooting for the stars. His jaw clenched, a muscle visibly ticking, and desire flared. A fire building, growing into a raging inferno. Every kiss, every touch, every stroke acting as fuel to ignite it further. 

Whatever grip Remus had on his control snapped, worn too thin and now was impossible to maintain. He sped up even more, their hips coming together even faster, generating yet more friction.

“More,” he breathed, attempting to pick up the pace impossibly higher, pushing harder into her, and reaching to rapidly flick her tiny bundle of nerves the way he had earlier with his tongue. 

“Ahhh!” she cried out the instant that his finger made contact.

Hermione’s nails dug into his back, and her back arched, pressing her chest flush against his. She looked up to find a deep scarlet blush had bloomed in his cheeks, and his pupils were fully dilated, black engulfing the crisp blue.

“Remus,” she gasped, startled as she felt her release splintering through her. His name was swallowed by his mouth claiming hers.

Her muscles seized and spasmed, clenching him tightly inside her. Then a tidal wave collided with her, punching through and dragging her under. Hermione shattered, completely undone as his warmth filled her, his hips moving in the final erratic jerks as he finished a beat behind her.

Remus’s arms weaved around Hermione, rolling until her body was sprawled across his chest, her leg draped over his thighs. Both were breathing in quick, shallow pants. When Hermione trembled slightly, he pulled her even closer, nestling her into the crooks and dips of his body until she no longer knew where she ended and he began. 

Hermione was abruptly grateful she’d begun taking a contraceptive potion a few weeks earlier. She’d made her own batch after assisting Severus with the school’s supply. She’d blushed like a seventh year the whole time they’d made it, and he’d snorted derisively upon noting it.

Neither spoke now, both content to bask in the glowing aftermath of their union at least for a few minutes. His fingers lightly trailed up and down her back and arms before tangling in her curls.

Hesitantly, while still running his fingers through her hair a bit later, Remus said, “Hermione… I let --”

“I was right there with you the entire time. It was perfect,” she promised, cutting him off and turning her head to kiss his shoulder, the nearest part of him she could reach without moving. And honestly, she didn’t think she could move. Her joints had vanished, and her bones had been replaced with rubbery noodles.

The last hour had been a revelation for her. Sex was… much more than a relatively satisfying release of stress and gratifying act. At least it had been with Remus. With him, it had been true bliss and joy. But more than that, it had felt like a joining of their souls.

“You’re sure?” he asked, but she heard the smile that had entered his voice.

“I want every part of you. Always,” she confessed, laying her heart bare. It was his. Forever.

She felt as he hardened against her thigh at the sound and meaning of her words. “I need you,” he rasped frankly.

“Yes,” she agreed, wanting to feel him again every bit as much.

~

“Yes, right there,” Remus moaned, the hard muscles of his back rippling beneath her hands.

Hermione was draped over his torso, slowly kneading the tight knots in his back centered around his shoulder blades. “You’re so tense,” she murmured, pressing a fraction harder. 

She’d started a new batch of Wolfsbane now that Remus could return to taking it during the next full moon, but even the potion didn’t do much for the toll shifting took on his musculoskeletal system. Each month his bones would still break and remold themselves as he went from human to wolf and back to human again in the span of a few hours. The potion would stop him from hurting himself or others, but it didn’t prevent the rest.

“If only you were always around to do this after the moon,” Remus said with a touch of longing.

“I’d be more than happy to,” she stated easily, shifting her hands to his lower back and scooting down to perch on the tops of his legs. The new position gave her a spectacular view of the rounded globes of his butt. It was a very shapely one at that, and no hardship to feast her gaze on.

“Always?” he asked quietly, a wealth of meaning crammed into the single word.

“Always,” she vowed, bending to drop a kiss on the center of his back.

In answer, he reached a hand back to squeeze her thigh. Much of the last three days had been spent with them locked up in Hermione’s room. Or rather, the room that they’d come to share. All of Remus’s belongings had miraculously been moved in while they’d been working in the library the morning after they’d spent the night together.

Sirius had adamantly denied being the one to do it, but his renewed spirits and pointed teasing did little to hide his opinion on the matter.

“Exercise can help work some of this tension out,” Hermione mused. Just thinking about the times they’d been together made her want him again. Well, that and the fact she’d just spent the last twenty minutes touching him.

“Do you have something particular in mind?” he asked casually, the hand still on her thigh shifting so that his fingers traced provocative circles over the sensitive inner skin, and his deep inhale let her know he’d scented her desire.

“If you’re up for it,” she said breathily, knowing she’d kept him up much of the last two nights, and he was still recovering.

Remus rolled over, sitting up as he did to capture the taunt peak of her nipple in the heated cavern of his mouth. His lips and tongue circled her flesh, wetly sucking. Butterflies erupted in her core, wings flapping wildly.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, startled by the suddenness of the assault on her senses.

Her hands raked down his chest, her nails digging in when his teeth worried the bud, tugging a bit before releasing her flesh with a wet pop!

When her fingers encircled his thick rod, gripping him firmly in her fist, Remus commanded, “You tell me, am I up for it?”

“Feels that way to me,” she teased, tracing his length in long, slow strokes. The heat of him against her palm was like a brand, permanently claiming her, marking her as his.

“I haven’t stopped wanting you since the moment you arrived. A couple days is hardly enough time to get my fill,” he breathed, rocking into her closed hand and shuttering when her thumb purposely rubbed over the crown of his cock.

Hermione continued moving her fist over him, closing her eyes when his mouth snagged the tip of her thus far neglected breast. His tongue flicked the nub enticingly. 

“Years,” she agreed, gasping. “It will take years.”

“At least,” he groaned, reaching to catch hold of her hips, seeming almost impatient to impale her on his thickness and encourage her to ride him.

A knock at the door stopped him, though his fingers spasmed against her. He buried his face in her chest and growled, _“What?”_

“Remus? Sorry, but you need to get downstairs -- now. Arthur was attacked. Albus sent word that the kids will be arriving any moment. And Kingsley just notified me that he got to Arthur first, but he wants you to come to St. Mungo’s to help field questions. You might stop off and let Molly know first. I don’t expect Albus has had a chance to tell her yet,” Sirius relayed quickly, though no less regretfully through the closed door.

“He’ll be fine, but you’ve got to go,” Hermione said, rolling off him.

Remus was up and dressing the instant she’d moved, but he paused while fastening his shirt, taking in her naked, reclining form on the bed. Regret and appreciation warred in his brilliant blue eyes as he took in the sight of her, and Hermione longed to run her hands through his disheveled sandy-blond hair again.

Shaking his head, he tore his eyes away and made for the door. Hermione grabbed the discarded, tangled sheet from the end of the bed to cover herself with just as he opened the door.

Sirius poked his head in, and she was abruptly grateful to have made the effort to conceal her nude body. Hermione clutched the bed sheet tighter to her chest, but Sirius hardly even seemed to notice.

“Tell me he lives,” Sirius demanded over the sound of the front door opening and closing.

“He lives. But you need to keep everyone calm. Reassure Harry. He’s confused, and he needs it right now,” Hermione confessed. With a resolved nod, Sirius was gone.


	11. 11: Revelations and Manipulations

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

Any dialogue you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I don’t think there is any, but just to be safe.

PS I’m not JK Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 11: Revelations and Manipulations

December-February 1995-1996

Grimmauld Place

“He’s stable,” Remus said wearily, his face ashen from the strain of the recent moon and managing Arthur Weasley’s attack when he entered their room.

“Who’s with him?” she asked, accepting his kiss. It was lazy and needy, a sensual promise of something darker and decadent. His skin was still chilled from being outside in the arctic temperatures of an early winter morning, but that swifty changed as the wild, sharp taste of him filled her mouth.

“Bill. Tonks and Mad-Eye are taking the family to the hospital right now if you want to grab a bite or a shower,” he offered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

Hermione could almost see the shutters being drawn across his eyes now that they were no longer touching. The breaking of that physical contact, a silent signal to retreat into the abyss of his mind where nightmares and insecurities dwelled.

“Join me?” she asked, hoping for his company in either or both pursuits, needing to keep him from going over the edge, even if she didn’t quite know what had led him there. Remus said nothing, having not seemed to hear her. “What is it?” she asked worriedly, unable to leave him struggling on his own.

“A patient was brought in while I was there. He was bitten,” he said tonelessly, explaining his detachment since arriving.

“He only just now came in? The moon was… four, no five, days ago,” Hermione said, frowning.

“Denial,” Remus explained dully, face drawn in lines of misery.

“Did you speak to him?”

“A little. He thinks his life is over,” Remus said, wiping his face with his hand as though he could scrub the knowledge from his mind with the feeble gesture.

When he didn’t immediately meet her stare, Hermione felt her eyes narrow, and she asked, “You told him that’s not true, didn’t you?”

“His wife left him,” Remus said, still not looking at her. Sadness etched itself deeply into his person, a cloak of… inevitability seemed to settle about his shoulders, and Hermione had to force down her anger at seeing it. Only time and actions would convince Remus not to automatically assume the same would happen to him. “Not much more to say after that,” he added while she was still working to control her temper.

“I’ve always known what you are. It doesn’t matter,” Hermione stated calmly, moving to kneel before him.

He nodded, then admitted, “It’s hard to believe after seeing that happen, and hearing about it happening to so many others. I’ve never been willing to risk it, then you… Well, I... ” he trailed off, but he took her hands and brought them up to his lips, lightly kissing the backs of her hands. Hope dared to peak out from behind the thunderclouds of doom and gloom covering his face.

“I know the timing isn’t the best, but I think you should get your book published. Kingsley or Tonks or even Bill can help. Don’t let your condition stop you from pursuing your dreams. You can have everything you want in life, even if you have to work a little harder to make it happen and deal with unfair obstacles,” Hermione said encouragingly, thinking this might be the best time to reiterate her faith in him. She’d mentioned it a few times now, but he always had an excuse ready for why he should wait a bit longer. Now, more than ever, he needed confirmation of his worth.

“How ‘bout that shower?” he suggested, dodging the conversation once more.

“Remus --”

“I’m going to go talk to the man again after. He might be more likely to believe me when I believe it myself,” Remus said, kissing her hands again. It was better than nothing. At least she’d managed to convince him that she, at least, wasn’t going anywhere.

“And do you believe it yourself?” Hermione pushed, studying him carefully.

“I believe that I have been fortunate enough to find the most open-minded and tolerant witch in Britain, and nothing matters beyond that,” Remus stated simply.

It might not have been a true acknowledgement, but it showed he was in a better place than he’d been when he first arrived home. 

“A shower would be lovely,” Hermione agreed, smiling warmly at him. She ran a finger down his chest, leaning close to his ear to whisper, “And far more engaging than what I’d planned to do this morning.” 

Her words caused Remus to swallow audibly. Then the next thing she knew, he’d swept her up in his arms, and was carrying her to the loo.

~

Remus looked disturbed and faintly green when he entered their bedroom a few nights after Arthur’s attack. 

Hermione had spent the day brewing with Severus after the students left Hogwarts for their holiday break. They were attempting to develop an antidote for the venom, but so far they’d had no luck considering Severus couldn’t exactly go to Voldemort and ask for a sample from Nagini to work with, and it was starting to look like that might be necessary.

“You just got here,” he murmured, staring transfixed at her as his hands shook. “Out there, all --”

“Did something happen?” Hermione asked, not understanding why he seemed so alarmed by the fact.

“I realized that I-I’d… that we’d…” he stuttered, gesturing back and forth between the pair of them before he glanced pointedly at the bed.

Laughter burst from Hermione’s mouth, and she pressed a hand to her face to smother the sound. It wasn’t really funny, but the look on his face right then was priceless. Suddenly, she could clearly remember how Remus had avoided her the whole holiday, and how disgruntled she’d been about it, having planned to share her news about the hats she’d been knitting to free all of the Hogwarts house-elves. 

Of course, she hadn’t known at the time that Dobby had been gathering them all for himself and Winky. But she’d been sure Remus would have a lot to say on the subject given the way he’d always taken the time to discuss those sorts of issues with her in the past. Now she was rather glad he’d not be able to tease her about her misguided attempts.

Actually, she couldn’t recall Remus ever meeting her eyes directly again from this point on.

“It’s not funny. Not in the least,” he grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring at her. “I feel like I need a scalding hot shower. Maybe gauge my eyes out. It’s disturbing.”

“We’re not really the same,” Hermione tried. A million experiences and more than a decade of years separated the two individuals.

“You were once my student,” Remus muttered, face twisting as he only just seemed to make that connection. Understandable given the fact they were practically the same age, and that wasn’t the relationship they had, even from the start of her time in the past. “I’d completely forgotten,” he grumbled miserably, confirming her suspicions.

“Eighteen years ago. And only for a blink of an eye. Trust me. The girl out there, and me -- we aren’t the same,” Hermione reiterated, moving to stand in front of Remus and take his hands. “Not be a long shot. Which is precisely why you’ve forgotten.”

“Right,” he agreed dubiously.

“It’s not like you want to sleep with her --”

“No!” he yelled, looking slightly revolted at the prospect as his soul shrank back in horror of the idea.

“Exactly,” Hermione said lightly, pressing her lips tightly together to suppress the stubborn smile threatening to reveal itself in the face of Remus’s dilemma. 

“Right,” he repeated, nodding slowly, though the troubled expression had not faded completely. He searched about for a change of subject, and settled on saying, “So… Ginny really has a way with Harry.”

“Give her a few more years. No one else can manage him as deftly,” Hermione praised, admiringly remembering her friend’s skills, and the ease with which she used them.

“Hard to believe she’ll get even better,” he said. Hermione searched her memory, but couldn’t recall what had happened. Remus, picking up on it, explained, “She told him off for the way he was acting when thinking he was being possessed, and for not talking to her about it given her experience.”

Hermione nodded, the events coming back to her. Then she gasped, scolding, “Remus Lupin, you mean to tell me you’ve been listening in at doors?”

He pulled one of the confiscated Extendable Ears from his pocket, and held it up unrepentantly. With a shrug, he said, “It was Padfoot’s suggestion.”

_Of course it had been._

~

Hermione exited Buckbeak's room where she’d left her potion notes from the day before when she’d been anxiously waiting for Remus to return from St. Mungo’s. He’d gone to discuss options with the werewolf patient again, suggesting he join the pack Remus had recently been a part of while he adjusted to his altered circumstances. Having support to lean on would help immensely.

It was still very early, and Hermione hadn’t expected anyone to be up or about yet, or she’d have disillusioned herself before moving about. So it was rather alarming to be confronted with the sight of Tonks lip-locked with George in the top floor hallway. 

George and Fred had both been a mess since their dad’s accident. Each struggling to understand how to put the needs of the Order before their family. It was a delicate balance they all found difficult to manage. Like knowing Remus was unreachable when integrating with the werewolf pack. But seeing George snogging Tonks was not how she expected to find him coping. 

“I’m sorry!” Hermione squeaked, spinning to retreat back into the room she’d come from. No wonder Sirius gave her such a hard time after walking in on her and Remus. It left one feeling mighty uncomfortable.

“Wotcher, Hermione. Hey, wait!” Tonks called, laughing. Quickly adjusting the volume of her voice, she whispered, “Come back, you’re not interrupting. Swear.”

“Enchanted mistletoe,” George explained, pointing up at the green, leafy plant dangling from the ceiling above their heads. 

They’d had bits of the specially spelled plant all over the house. Any pair unfortunate enough to walk beneath it, was stuck, and only a kiss would free them. Molly hadn’t been too keen on Sirius’s version of the plant, a treat he’d created specifically with Remus and Hermione in mind, but she’d been unable to stop it from randomly cropping up about the house until after Christmas Day passed. They must have missed the bit up here during the cleanup the day before.

“Right,” Hermione said awkwardly, not to mention rather doubtfully. She couldn’t help but notice George’s blush or how Tonk’s hair had turned from purple to burgundy. Not to mention exactly how close they were still standing. Not even a shadow put pass between the lines of their bodies. And what were they doing up so early anyways?

Hermione thought about it as she looked the pair over. George was nearly eighteen and Tonks was only barely twenty-one. In just a few months, George would be the co-owner of a very successful business and own his own flat. Tonks was in her second year as a fully trained Auror, and had only recently moved out of her parent’s place and into her first flat. Both were intelligent and valued a good sense of humor. Honestly, they were remarkably well-suited. 

She very purposely decided not to consider the snag a relationship developing between the pair might cause with Teddy in the future. She had enough on her mind lately to not want the additional hiccup at this point in time. It was time to put the issue of Teddy on the back-burner, at least for the foreseeable future. 

Tonks looked between Hermione and George, seeming unsurprised by the fact that the Weasley male knew about her, and said, “Well, I best be off.” Without waiting, she took off, not giving Hermione a chance to ask when she learned about the twins discovering her.

George watched her expectantly, seeming to brace himself for whatever lecture Hermione planned on delivering. “How’s your dad?” Hermione asked instead, knowing he had to be worrying, and deciding to cut him a bit of slack.

“He’ll be all right, won’t he?” George asked, frankly assessing her.

“Yes,” she replied calmly.

“Right. ‘Course he will. He’s dad,” George said, false optimism ringing in his words.

“He’ll be fine, George. Severus and I are working on an antivenom,” Hermione promised. His mouth opened at her statement, probably in response to the familiarity in her use of Snape’s first name or that she was helping cure his dad, but he ended up just shaking his head and letting the subject drop.

“Hanging in there?” he asked.

“Actually…” Hermione began, continuing when she saw the spark of interest ignite on his face, “While I have you here… remember when you offered help if I needed it?” This was the perfect time to get started on the plan she’d been recently developing.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I have something to show you, and a bit of a request to make. Go get Fred and meet me in the Potion Room,” she ordered. 

“Yes ma’am,” George saluted, standing at attention and nodding before Disapparating. Honestly! It was one flight of stairs.

Hermione sighed, and carefully made her way back to her room to retrieve the newspaper clipping she’d saved while looking for signs of giants, and made her way downstairs. When they entered two minutes later, Fred looking as though he’d been dragged rather reluctantly from bed, she handed over the advertisement for a space in Diagon Alley. Number ninety-three, Diagon Alley to be precise. 

When they stared at it blankly, she explained, “For your shop.” When neither spoke, she briskly added, “You know, the one you’ve been planning for since forever.”

“George,” Fred breathed wonderingly, “this is exactly what we need, and it’s in the perfect location. All that business...”

“Except there’s no way. Did you get a good look at that price?” George denied, shaking his head forlornly.

“Six months up front? On a place that big? But... “

“But you’ve already spent most of the Galleons Harry gave you on research and development,” Hermione guessed, having already suspected as much. With the price of their merchandise and its popularity, they’d recoup the amount in no time, but they didn’t have it yet. Even with their mail order service and presale of products.

“You know about that?” Fred demanded, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Of course I do,” Hermione said easily.

“Your younger self doesn’t,” he said, frowning. “I’m getting real tired of --”

“Don’t pretend you’re not in the wrong. Honestly, using first years for product testing,” Hermione scolded disapprovingly. Both wizards grinned, completely unrepentant.

“Gore, you haven’t changed a bit,” George said, chuckling lightly.

“ _Anyways_ , what you need is another financial investor as well as help keeping up with supply demand. Possibly a few fresh ideas too,” Hermione explained, redirecting the conversation. They needed to wrap it up before Severus arrived. He’d not appreciate being kept waiting. And if this carried on too long, the rest of the house would be up and Molly might get suspicious and come to investigate, inadvertently finding her. That was not something she thought would be a good idea. Though thankfully Arthur’s situation had her rather well distracted.

“You want to work for us?” George asked dubiously, frowning, and exchanging a worried look with Fred.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the mistaken assumption, curtly correcting, “Not me. Sirius! He has the Black fortune at his disposal, and he needs this. Have you seen him lately? Taken a real good look? He’s drowning being shut up in here with nothing to do.”

For weeks, she’d been considering the best way to approach Sirius’s problem, knowing her hands were bound in many ways. Then she’d seen the advert and the idea had materialized almost fully formed in an instant as so many of her schemes seemed to do. A little research later, and she’d fine tuned and finalized her plan.

Remus had once confessed that Sirius was actually the best in their year. Beating out James, Lily, and even Severus, though he tried to hide how intelligent he was. He’d earned outstandings in every one of his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s without ever cracking a book. Even Arithmancy! It was probably part of why he was struggling now, having nothing to keep his brain properly stimulated. And this after years locked up in Azkaban.

Now, the twins needed additional funds. Sirius had more than he could ever hope to spend. Mischief making would appeal to him. A way of rebelling while confined. Not to mention the inherent challenge involved with inventing new products. And if Hermione was successful in saving him, he’d have something to keep him busy for the foreseeable future.

“He was one of the founding Marauders,” George said slowly, turning the idea over in his head.

“And the Fever Fudge was his idea,” Fred remarked, beginning to nod.

“Hold up,” George said, holding up his hand and rounding on Hermione. “You already know this is where our shop is and that we get the extra funds.”

She shrugged, but admitted, “I’ve been looking for the advert in the _Prophet_ for weeks to send you. Then I saw the price and knew you’d need some additional help. This works well for everyone.”

“The listing is for the whole building. What are we supposed to do with the top three floors?” Fred asked. 

Hermione had never really noticed the size of the building during her time. At one point, Ron had asked what they were doing with the extra space, having hoped they would let him move in to get out of the Burrow, but one of the twins had just laughed and said he had a few special projects up there that he was saving for a future rainy day.

“Apartments. I have a few tenants in mind for you already,” Hermione said vaguely, biting her lip nervously.

Her words captured their combined attention almost in unison. Hermione debated how much to reveal as they stared at her. Remus had gotten on her case a few times recently about not sharing too much, actually being the one to remind her of the inherent dangers involved with meddling. If her plan didn’t work, there’d be nothing to tell. And sharing too much could be dangerous for the timeline. But if it did work out...

“Hermione... “ George whispered, but she shook her head, recognizing the swirling tempest she’d haphazardly ventured into.

“What a rebel you’ve turned out to be! I love it,” Fred said suddenly, pumping his fist into the air. It hurt her to watch his jubilation. 

“Oh, Fred.” The words slipped out of their own accord, slicing cleanly through the air before she realized her lips had parted.

“Not everyone is going to make it,” George stated knowingly, understanding faster than his twin what was happening.

“I never really gave your intelligence the due it deserves,” she muttered absently, shaking her head and averting her eyes. She couldn’t stand there looking at them a moment longer. 

“By all of us, he meant our family,” Fred clarified unnecessarily, apparently reading his twin’s mind and jumping to the same page.

“I know,” she acknowledged, forcing herself to meet their questioning gazes once more, though she said nothing else.

“But you’ve got a plan?” George asked, referencing her mention of apartments.

“I do,” she confirmed, praying it would work and they’d have the chance to use them.

“Here’s hoping it’s enough to have the cleverest witch of her generation working on it,” Fred muttered.

“No pressure,” George added, training a quelling look on his twin.

“No. None,” Hermione said laughing a little hysterically.

“If Sirius is in agreement, consider it a deal,” George added, sparing her from continuing the difficult conversation that was taking place.

“Looks like we’ve got some living to do -- just in case, eh, George?” Fred joked. Hermione hurriedly gave them her back before they noticed her horror at Fred’s cavalier words, and the twins exited seconds later, recognizing her dismissal. “Cover for me with Mum? I want to visit Angelina -- if you know what I mean,” Fred added, probably wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he did. Hermione could easily picture it even if she was no longer watching him.

~

“You’re certain this time it will work?” Hermione asked, giving the potion a final three-quarter clockwise stir. The action caused the simmering liquid to morph into a vibrant, acidic green -- the exact shade of the snake.

“Yes. The bits of Nagini’s shed skin should do the trick,” Severus said mildly, checking the height of the flames and adjusting them slightly. Hermione had already heard about how he’d managed to locate a bit of Nagini during his last meeting. Her heart had raced at the knowledge he could have been caught, and what a daring risk it had been. Albus really was right about Severus, he should have been in Gryffindor. “The antidote needed a bit of the source to work as a counter. There was no other way,” Severus reminded her when he caught sight of the look on her face.

“You took quite a risk in procuring it,” Hermione said stiffly, unable to hold her opinion back any longer. They’d had no luck coming up with an antivenom potion so far, and it was already more than two weeks since the initial attack on Arthur Weasley.

“There was no other way,” he repeated, shaking his head. He was right, of course. But knowing he’d risked his life because they needed him to, didn’t make it any easier to bear. “Should the Dark Lord ask, the Order located the skin in the Ministry. A bit of timely luck on their part.”

“How long does it need to simmer?” she asked, wincing at the clipped sound. She sounded like a certifiable harpy. 

“Another twenty minutes,” he said, giving her a knowing look. He seemed to find immense satisfaction whenever she berated herself, saving him the trouble.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Remus asked, poking his head in to glance about. Seeing the freshly cleared workbench, he used his shoulder to open the door wider and step inside with them before kicking the door shut with his foot.

“Of course not,” Hermione said, smiling at his dexterity.

“Albus wishes to speak with you before you leave,” he said, directing his words to Severus. Hermione hadn’t known Albus was even there. Likely, neither did Harry. “And I thought I’d drop this off. Molly made her rhubarb crumble for lunch.”

“Hmm, yes, please. You know it’s my favorite,” Hermione said enthusiastically, accepting the plate he held out and inhaling the heavenly aroma. The pudding was still warm from the stove, even better!

Remus brushed a hand over her cheek, gazing tenderly at her. Hermione smiled in gratitude, touched by all the thoughtful little acts Remus did for her on a regular basis.

“Severus?” Remus offered, holding out the second plate he was carrying. He was a little stilted about it, but it was undeniably a peace offering.

“I must make an appearance in the Great Hall shortly,” Severus said stiffly, glancing at Hermione before assuming a reasonably passable semblance of politeness.

Remus nodded, seeming to have expected the refusal, but he laid the plate on a cleared space anyways, merely commenting, “In case you change your mind.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll eat it if he doesn’t,” Hermione promised, appreciating Remus’s attempt to improve the state of things between himself and Severus. He’d asked her a few times about their unlikely friendship, but Hermione had held her silence out of respect for Severus’s much valued privacy.

“I’ll let you know when the coast is next clear to head upstairs,” he said, squeezing her hand and lingering for nearly a full minute before he exited the room.

Hermione went to take another bite of her food, only to find herself pinned in place by Severus’s watchful look.

“You’re in love with him,” he stated, apparently startled by the realization.

“Yes,” Hermione said simply.

It was true, even if they hadn’t yet said the words to one another. Just thinking it to herself made her smile. She could easily determine that she’d never been in love before. While she loved Ron, she’d not been in love with him. Not really. Not in a way that was more than a childhood infatuation or lust. It was an important distinction.

“He was always the most tolerable of the lot,” Severus said, pressing his thin lips into such a tight line that they faded to white before appearing to vanish altogether, a cobweb viewed at a great distance.

“High praise,” Hermione teased, figuring that was the best reaction she could hope for from him. At least where any of the Marauders were concerned.

“Certainly preferable to Black.”

“I agree whole-heartedly,” Hermione said lightly, feeling bubbly from the realization that she well and truly did love Remus.

Severus ignored her to extinguish the flame beneath the cauldron, while Hermione prepared a vial and carefully laddled a dose into it.

As Severus accepted the small, stoppered glass bottle, all Hermione could see was the image of him lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, bleeding out after Nagini’s attack. The gurgling hole in his neck, fountaining blood as he struggled to help Harry in his final moments. Red staining his front like so much paint. Buckets and buckets full, all spilled in minutes, an endless geyser. 

A weight pressed on her chest, and she gasped, the events so much more devastating to consider now than they’d been at the time. Severus was her friend now. She knew the sacrifices and lengths he’d gone to to save them. She couldn’t just let it go.

“Hermione? What is it?” he asked, raising his hands to clutch her shoulders, but hesitating just shy of actually making contact. She could feel her whole body trembling, her emotional responses beyond her control.

“W-what is the shelf-life of-f this p-potion?” she gasped, the words quivering and hoarse.

“So long as the stasis charm holds, indefinitely,” he said, retreating a step, and shaking his head warningly. Silently begging her not to go any further.

Hermione reached to pour a second vial, but Severus’s hands covered her own, halting her. She shook him off, finished her preparations and pressed the second vial to his chest. He didn’t take it. 

Hermione pressed it more insistently against him, reaching to wrap his calloused hand around the warm glass, instructing, “Keep this on you always.”

“Hermione,” he rasped, shaking his head and trying to return the life-saving antidote.

“Please?” she asked quietly, turning pleading eyes on him.

Abruptly, he was furious. His intimidating bat-of-the-dungeons persona coming over him in a flash. The thin veil hiding it away vanishing like so much mist on a sunny day. “Do you not understand the consequences of what you are saying?” he said, slow and quiet. The question was all the more dangerous for the barely leashed fury it contained. “Your words alone, and certainly your actions could have devastating effects. The far-reaching ripples -- I thought you were intelligent! You might very well have just written yourself out of existence. _Don’t you understand that?_ ”

“I have to. I can’t do nothing,” Hermione said earnestly, and not without a substantial amount of fear. 

He might very well be correct. Making any alterations at all could result in her death at any point in time. Her younger self could die any second, and she’d vanish in a blink without ever getting a chance to say goodbye to those she’d come to love and care for. Or someone else she loved could be forfeit. Countless others even. That was why the laws were so strict, and why the use of time-turners was so highly regulated and monitored.

Elosie Mintumble was the primary example. The one always referenced. Her name forever synonymous with time travel and the devastating consequences. She traveled from 1899 to 1402 for a total of five days, and the result was no less than twenty-five documented descendants vanishing, becoming un-born, because of her disruption to their ancestor’s life paths. What if Hermione’s interference did the same? Teddy was already at risk of that fate, but who else was too? 

“Not by messing with time!” he denied harshly, disrupting her thoughts. Roughly he demanded, “How could you even consider this path? Why -- wait, do not answer that. I already know you’ll spout some foolish Gryffindor nonsense and try to pass it off as being noble,” he announced disparagingly, practically spitting the last word.

“Can you honestly say you wouldn’t do the same? If you had the chance to --”

“Don’t. Do not even speak the words,” he hissed, agony twisting his features. 

Somehow he’d known precisely where her mind had gone. It was a temptation he’d never allowed himself to consider. Proof that he was a stronger man than she could ever hope to be. She already knew she planned to try and change Remus’s predestined path. Inaction was not a choice she could accept. Not anymore. Not when she loved him so fiercely. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, earning a brisk nod from him. 

Of course Lily would be a sensitive subject, and not one he’d wish to discuss openly with her. They were barely getting to know each other still. He’d not take kindly to her ripping open festering scabs so soon.

“How do you know I am not supposed to do this? What if this was always meant to happen? You have no proof it isn’t,” she said, and he immediately snorted at her ridiculous use of Gryffindor logic.

“I’d have expected that from Potter. Not from you,” he said, making the words sound like an insult, but she didn’t mind the implication that she’d picked up Harry’s saving-people habit. “You really think to save us all?” he asked once it was clear his words hadn’t had their intended effect.

“No. But that won’t stop me from trying,” she admitted, already knowing it was an impossible task to save everyone, but as Remus had said -- even one would be a precious gift. “And who says it’s for you?”

He gave her a condescending look for daring to try tricking him. Yes. Her reactions had already given too much away for him to be fooled at this point. But it had been worth a try, even if he was too intelligent to fall for her ill-disguised ruse.

“And if I’ve no wish to be saved?” he asked quietly, thoroughly shocking her. He was deadly serious.

Hermione scanned his face, searching for any hint or sign that he did not mean what he was implying. There were none. “Then know that I will miss you,” she said thickly, tears clogging her throat. He had time yet, perhaps their friendship would change his mind, give him a reason to want to survive.

“My sins are great, and I fear I shall have to commit more before this war is through,” he said, his regret nearly tangible like so much dirt burying him alive in an early grave. “I am tired of shouldering the burden of my past.”

“You must forgive yourself. You deserve a second chance. You’ve more than earned it,” Hermione implored, willing him to believe her.

“Can you honestly tell me that I’ll not be forced to commit any more atrocities in the name of the Dark Lord before this war is over?”

“It is for us, not him,” Hermione insisted, ignoring his question. 

She’d heard about the cruelties done at the school during his short tenure as Headmaster. He’d had no choice but to allow it to happen, yet that didn’t lessen his guilt. Then there was the matter of Albus Dumbledore’s death. If it wasn’t Severus, it would be Draco. Or Severus would die because of his vow. 

So many factors and no work arounds.

“You’re such a Gryffindor,” he muttered disparagingly.

“Please don’t make me mourn the loss of another friend,” Hermione intoned quietly. 

Severus inhaled sharply, and his onyx eyes widened perceptibly. Neither moved or spoke. Then, very reluctantly, Severus tucked the acid green potion inside a pocket of his robes and left to give Remus the other to take to St. Mungo’s for Arthur.

At least now his future was in his own hands. It was a luxury he’d not been afforded since… well… ever. First, because of his rotten childhood. Then, the bullies and dark influences at Hogwarts. After that, Voldemort. And finally, because of Dumbledore himself. 

For the first time, Severus would actually be able to make a choice for himself based on what he wanted. It was a precious gift she hoped he would give the gravity it was due when it came time to decide.

She conjured a comfy chair and made to continue reading The Hunchback of Notre Dame, her thoughtful Christmas present from Remus. With the kids running about, she’d probably be stuck in there until after supper was over. 

The words, so familiar and entrancing, were failing to capture her imagination right then. Hermione’s mind kept replaying her interaction with Severus or thinking about how Remus informed her that morning that he’d finally spoken to Kingsley about getting his book published -- thanks to her unfailing encouragement.

Somehow, it seemed amazing to her how life managed to go on amidst a war. And how people still successfully lived their own lives against a backdrop centered around a few key players and their moves.

The door of the potion’s room slammed open, making her jump and drop her book. Albus was standing there with an infuriated Severus. For a moment, Hermione feared he’d told Albus about the potion she’d given him, but Albus appeared far too calm for that to be the case. His blue eye sparkled mischievously, and Hermione swallowed, fearing what that might mean for her. Particularly in light of Severus’s obvious outrage.

“I won’t do it,” Severus announced, sneering at Albus, and crossing his arms petulantly.

“Occlumency lessons,” Albus explained, shedding light for her. Hermione blinked, waiting to hear more. Albus’s expectant gaze and pointed look at Severus clued her in on the real reason they were there.

“Harry needs you. Voldemort can use him -- he will -- if you don’t,” Hermione said, frowning at Albus. 

He was using her to convince Severus to agree. It was a clever move, but not one she appreciated. The older man avoided meeting her eye, but there was a definite twinkle in his as he clasped his hands before him and stared patiently at a spot on the far wall, content to let her handle this. She’d have to have a word with him about this another time.

“That boy’s head has always been abysmally open. So impulsive and emotional. There is no possible way he has the skill for such delicate and advanced magics,” Severus argued, making his opinion clear on what a waste of time and energy this endeavor would be.

“It’s not his fault. There’s more to it than you know,” Hermione explained, but at the sight of Albus tensing, she quickly changed course to finish, “and he doesn’t understand. You don’t understand. You must teach him.”

“He’ll be as uncooperative as ever, I’ve no doubt,” Severus complained, still baulking.

“You must have patience with him. Be the adult, and don’t rise to his baiting,” Hermione said curtly, recognizing that Harry wasn’t the only one at fault during their interactions.

“He’s petulant, disrespectful, arrogant --”

“He’s not James!” Hermione snapped, fed up. “And right now he needs you. There’s no one else that can do this for him.”

Severus clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding audibly as his nostrils flared. Then he was gone, spinning to stalk from the room.

“Thank you for your assistance. I feared he would ignore my request and refuse outright,” Albus said lightly, a smile curling his lips.

“Do not use me to manipulate him again,” Hermione raged, glaring at the elderly man, projecting such a trusting and gentle demeanor. The careful facade was nothing but an illusion these days. If it ever was the truth.

“Hermione… that was not my intent when I came here,” Albus said calmly, studying her with undisguised frankness.

“Perhaps,” she allowed, though doubt colored her tone liberally. “But it was precisely what you did,” Hermione accused tersely.

“I only hoped you would have better luck talking reason --”

“You are not the omniscient, master puppeteer you believe yourself to be, Albus. I am not your Lily substitute where Severus is concerned and you feel the need to force him to toe the line, so don’t do it again!” she said fiercely, annoyed at having to spell it out for him.

“I apologize for any unintentional offense that I have given,” Albus said mildly, his lips parting in surprise at having been called out so thoroughly.

A few deep, deliberate breaths did wonders to calm her down. Hermione set aside everything else she wished to say in favor of enlightening him, “Harry will be just as reluctant. I suggest you convince Sirius to talk to him about why it is necessary and important that Harry take these Occlumency lessons seriously.” Hermione thought back to the confrontation that had taken place in the kitchen, and added, “Before Severus informs him.”

“Yes, that might be the prudent move,” Albus agreed, nodding slowly, a tiny wrinkle forming on his brow, getting lost among the others already creasing his face.

“And you can give Severus your Pensieve. To keep Harry from seeing things he shouldn’t if he turns the tables. I should be through with it after tomorrow,” Hermione added, knowing she was setting Severus up, but considering he’d just gotten on her case for changing things, perhaps he’d forgive her. Eventually. When hell froze over and Voldemort conceded defeat peaceably.

“Then I suppose all that is left for me to do is inform Sirius and fetch my Potion’s Master back so that they can speak to Harry of the necessity of these lessons,” Albus said, leaving her alone in the Potion Room once again.

Hermione almost wished him good luck with that. Almost.


	12. How to Really Save a Life... and Wreck a First Date

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

I hope everyone has a happy holiday and that you stay safe! Here is my present to you!

Any dialogue you recognize is from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix._

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 12: How to Really Save a Life... and Wreck a First Date

January-February 1996

Grimmauld Place

Hermione rolled to her side when the bed dipped under Remus’s shifting weight.

“Where are you going? Come back to bed,” she mused sleepily, reaching to catch his arm. 

They’d stayed up late into the night talking about the offer he’d gotten for his book, and celebrating. Kingsley had come by not long after Severus left with the news. Remus was shocked that it had been accepted so quickly. Having expected rejections, he’d not allowed himself to get his hopes up. Kingsley was helping him publish under the name R. L. John.

The advance wasn’t much, and he’d have to spend the next few months doing his edits around his Order schedule, but it was something. A hard earned victory. And they’d even seemed interested in turning it into a series if sales for the first book met the projections.

“If only I could,” he said, bending to kiss her lightly. He lingered, the kiss lush and lazy, allowing Hermione to savor the intrinsically male heat of him. “Nymphadora and I are escorting the kids back to Hogwarts today,” he explained regretfully.

“Hurry back to me,” she requested, smiling bemusedly when he abandoned fastening his old, patched robes in favor of kneeling to kiss her again instead. 

“I will,” he promised, brushing the tip of his nose over hers.

“Why do you insist on calling her Nymphadora? You must know how she despises being called that,” Hermione asked, blinking up at him.

“It feels entirely too inappropriate to refer to her by her surname,” he said, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

“What? Why in Merlin’s name…”

“Tonks is too similar to Miss Tonks -- the name I would have addressed her as, were she my student. I don’t see how I could work with her and treat her as an equal when we’re fighting if I’m thinking of her as a child in need of protection,” Remus explained rationally.

“Hmm…” Hermione hummed, not really knowing what to do with that, particularly when it made sense. Tonks really did seem like a carefree, wild child more often than not. “What is it?” she asked when he hesitated at the door.

“Will you keep an eye on Sirius today? He’ll take Harry leaving hard, I’ve a feeling,” he stated quietly, his concern a stroke of velvet over her skin that left her shivering in its wake. “Especially after the encounter with Snape last night.” 

“Only if you let me know what you think is happening between Tonks and George,” Hermione traded, hoping another set of eyes would tell her that confinement had made her paranoid. Not that she wanted Tonks alone, just not involved with someone before she figured out a way to break the news about Teddy.

“You don’t say,” Remus mused lightly, clearly intrigued by the idea, unaware of the gravity she viewed the matter with.

Not long after the group left to return to Hogwarts, Hermione entered the kitchen, having not found Sirius anywhere else. “Sirius?” Hermione asked darkly, her jaw falling open in disgust at the sight of him.

“Hey, Granger! Join me for a drink,” he called merrily, waving her over, though the smile didn’t reach his hollow eyes.

“You’re sloshed,” she accused.

“So what if I am pissed?” he said, a barely detectable slur accenting his insouciant words. “Pickled is a very good state to be in!”

She decided right then that she wasn’t going to give him a choice about helping the twins. He’d do it if she had to stand over him hissing instructions the entire time. But perhaps she should wait until he’d had a chance to sober up to inform him.

When Sirius tried to pour a glass for her, she reached out to take the bottle from him, having no intention of drinking before the sun had even fully risen in the sky -- not that either of them ever had the chance to witness sunlight for themselves. What with their imprisonment. 

“You’ve always been such a judgy little thing,” he announced bitterly, a sullen scowl eclipsing his face.

“I thought you wanted to see my memories of Harry. Albus is coming for the Pensieve later today and you’ve been busy entertaining since he brought it in the first place,” Hermione said, trying to tempt him from the room.

“Memories of everything I’m missing out on. Great, just what I need,” Sirius said, the words edged with the sharpest of knives. Depression had him spitting mean, determined to draw the blood of any that dared approach him when he was in this mood. “Another reason to hate everyone.”

Hermione watched him wearily for a moment, trying to determine the best approach to reach him. He was so mercurial these days, and it was only getting worse. At least he’d kept himself in check while Harry had been around. Too bad the timeout had come to an end. She watched as he summoned a new bottle of firewhiskey, Hermione still clutching his former source of comfort. 

Possibly, he’d respond better to insults. It always worked for Severus. ‘Course this was probably brought on by the man’s barbs the night before, as Remus had suggested, but that was a different matter entirely.

“Clean yourself up and try being useful. I --”

“Can’t. Not allowed to leave, am I? Not much use to anyone,” he said morosely, shifting to give her his back, apparently done with their conversation.

“Damn it, Sirius,” she breathed, sadness at the state of him bringing her close to tears.

“Get out unless you’re willing to join me,” he barked, bristling in the face of her pity. “Go!” he bellowed, never turning to face her.

Retreating to the library, Hermione lost herself in scanning the latest pile of newspapers for any hint of giants. So far there’d been nothing. Not a single sign, and if they were on the move, there’d be some sort of evidence left behind. Giants were simply too big and violent not to.

A commotion sounded below, drifting up to her a couple hours later. Remus joined her shortly after.

“Sirius is in a fine mood,” Remus said dryly.

“I didn’t have much luck with him,” Hermione admitted, wincing a touch.

“Thanks for trying,” he said, and making it clear that he didn’t wish to discuss it further by saying, “I think there might be something to your suggestion of George and Nymphadora.”

“I wasn’t suggesting they get together,” Hermione quickly denied.

“You don’t think they suit?” Remus inquired.

“My opinion really doesn’t matter,” Hermione denied, not knowing how to explain.

“There’s more going on here than I know,” Remus guessed, smiling as he realized she knew something about them.

“Yes,” she admitted, and wondered if this was the right time to tell him more about Teddy. He’d not asked, and the two times she’d tried to bring up the subject, he’d told her not to say anymore, referencing the dangers. “Do --”

Remus shook his head, cutting her off, “Don’t share more than you absolutely must,” then went on informing, “well, as to those two, she sent George with me today, but he migrated over to talk to her soon enough, and their whispered conversation looked fairly intense. Do you know why, considering you did ask after them?”

“I found them snogging a while back under some leftover mistletoe,” she admitted.

He watched her, taking in her troubled expression, and teased, “I could do with a bit of snogging. If you’re interested.”

Hermione moved to his chair, leaning over to steal his lips. When his arms went around her, tugging to pull her on his lap, she resisted, breaking the kiss and dropping to her knees before him, the fire warming her back pleasantly. 

“Hermione,” he said, her name a guttural plea.

Grinning, she undid his robes, slipping her hands over his thighs, dancing her fingers over his skin with the barest pressure. He was hard and hot by the time she freed him. _“Aghh.”_ The sound of his hiss of pleasure when her tongue traced the length of him, deliberately tracing the bulbous head, was the most satisfying thing she’d ever heard in her life. 

Her tongue licked and swirled, circling around his cock as she sucked him deep, working him in and out of her mouth. He was too big to fit entirely inside, the tip brushing the back of her throat as she swallowed him, but she used her fist to pump the base of his shaft as she worked him over. Lightly, she scraped her nails over his inner thigh, and was rewarded by a wild jerk of his hips. 

One of his hands found its way into her hair, his fingers weaving into the strands to lightly cup her head. All the while, the other gripped the arm of his chair, expelling all of his excess strength as he fought to remain in control and not lose his head too soon.

“Take your pants off,” Remus ordered, gripping her under the arms and hauling her up.

As soon as they were off, he pulled her atop him, her legs nestling into the chair on either side of his hips to straddle him. Their lips met in a feverish kiss as she sank onto him, impaling herself on his rigid length, the thickness filling her exquisitely.

Lips duelled and hands stroked as she set a leisurely pace, riding him slowly. It wasn’t long before passion demanded more. Her muscles flexed and trembled, clenching deliciously around him.

Pressure built. Higher. Winds raged as a tempest roared. When it broke, Hermione felt the supernova of stars colliding. A blasting rush of ecstasy.

Hermione’s head fell back as Remus clutched her shoulders, arching his hips up to push impossibly deeper inside her as the heat of his release filled her.

She crumpled against his chest afterwards, his shirt raked up where her hands had searched out the skin of his chest hidden beneath, and Remus wrapped her tightly in his arms to keep her there.

“I’ve always fantasized about having sex in a library,” Hermione admitted, wondering why she’d not thought to drag him in there sooner.

He laughed, delighted by the revelation so much so that tiny laugh lines framed the brilliant blue depths of his eyes. Somehow they still managed to make new ones about each other every day. 

“I’d be more than happy to assist in making your every fantasy come true,” Remus offered, running his hand down the length of her spine, leaving tingles in its wake. The words were light, softly teasing, but hidden beneath was a note of complete seriousness, and a desperate longing to fulfill them.

“Only if I can do the same,” Hermione countered, smiling into his neck at the thought. He really did know how to make her have fun.

“Hermione, you are my fantasy,” Remus saw, voice raw and rough with undisguised honesty. “One I never dreamed I could have.”

Remus dipped his head a fraction to catch her eye, a seriousness entering the shattered aquamarine of his eyes. They were so open, naked to her scrutiny. Hermione found herself falling into their depths. Down, down, losing herself in him. But it wasn’t terrifying. At all. It was liberating. And safe and comforting. Overwhelming too. In the best way possible. 

And with it came a knowing so profound it was nearly tangible.

“I love you, Remus,” Hermione whispered, baring herself to him in a new intimacy.

His answering kiss expressed his emotions far more clearly than words.

A little later, once they’d dressed and Remus had gone to check on Sirius before leaving to spend the night in his house for the full moon and Albus had dropped in to collect his Pensieve, Kreaher wandered into the room. “Hello, Kreacher. How was your Christmas?” Hermione asked kindly.

“It talks to Kreacher like it cares,” Kreacher grumbled, shuffling about the room aimlessly. 

He had a dirty rag clutched tightly in his fist, but he didn’t actually use it to dust any of the surfaces in the room. Not that he needed to anyways. Since Hermione spent much of her time there, she frequently charmed it clean, herself. Why have servants when a person was more than capable of doing the task themselves? And with magical assistance, it only took a second.

“I do care,” Hermione promised sincerely, wishing he wasn’t so unhappy. Neglect was an oft overlooked, yet crippling form of abuse.

“No. Missy Cissa cares for Kreacher. Mistress Malfoy will ask for Missy Bella for Kreacher,” Kreacher said low under his breath, quieter than Hermione had ever heard him talk.

“What did you say?” Hermione gasped, shocked as she sat up straighter even as her soul shrank back in horror. 

“Mudblood talks to Kreacher, oh why? Why won’t she stop?” Kreacher moaned, scratching at the top of his filthy, greying loincloth. The fabric was so frayed it looked close to disintegrating.

“Bellatrix Lestrange is in Azkaban, Kreacher,” Hermione said softly, though far more steely than she’d meant to.

Something about her tone caught Kreacher’s attention, and he finally turned his damp, beady eyes in her direction. He seemed to delight in revealing, “Not for long. The Dark Lord will get her for us. Kreacher reminds them that the information the Order keeps from them is in Azkaban.”

Hermione stared at him in horror, the connection forming like so many electrical wires touching to form a complete circuit. Rookwood was an Unspeakable. Hadn’t Harry said he’d seen Voldemort talking to him through their connection? 

The breakout. 

“Kreacher, what have you done? This is important -- _please!_ ” Hermione demanded, trying to keep her voice even and her tone gentle.

Hermione had been so busy telling Harry off for seeing at all when they’d been in school, that she’d not realized the significance of what he saw before now. Of course, Harry wasn’t supposed to understand the true magnitude. He was a student. The Order was supposed to be handling things. Oh, she wished she still had Albus’s Pensieve! What she wouldn’t do to be able to study her memories and try to sort out what was happening, and what was about to happen!

But from what she could recall, it made a sort of twisted sense. When Kreacher reminded Voldemort of Rookwood, likely after hearing him mentioned during one of the Order meetings, asking for Bellatrix too would surely only have alerted Voldemort of the fact he still had a number of loyal servants just waiting to do his bidding. And now it seemed it was too late to try and stop the dominos from tipping.

So many people would die in the next two years because of those that escaped. More than even she knew about. Innocent Muggles and Muggle-borns that didn’t even fight in the war. 

“Oh, if Mistress knew the loathsome type that be living in her most ancient home!” Kreacher wailed in response as he walked out, ignoring Hermione’s plea for more information. Not that it mattered. She already understood perfectly what was to come.

Hermione looked around, finding Phineas Nigellus already staring at her. The former headmaster shook his head disapprovingly, his lips pursed, but he made no comment, and Hermione couldn’t tell what he thought of the conversation that had just taken place.

~

Remus had been upset before he left to shift. He blamed himself for not being there when Severus and Sirius spoke to Harry, assuming he’d have been able to mediate and prevent his friend’s current slump. Hermione realized she should have thought of it herself, having known better after watching Sirius’s steady decline these last few months, but Remus had been at St. Mungo's giving the healers Arthur’s cure.

Remus still wasn’t back yet when she gave up on trying to sleep and made her way downstairs. It startled her how quickly she’d grown accustomed to having him in her bed each night during the last month. So much so, that she’d been unable to fall asleep without him.

Possibly, it had to do with how he’d hold her when her nightmares woke her, softly stroking her hair, and kissing her lightly until she’d relaxed enough to sleep again. His scent, warm chocolate and earthy sandalwood and the crisp bite of freshly fallen snow, was her haven. Necessary for her to let her guard down enough to the vulnerable state that sleeping left her in.

He never asked what horrors haunted her, and the one time she’d tried to tell him, he’d kissed her so passionately, that she’d lost herself in his arms, letting his touch chase the demons from her mind.

Sirius was fiddling with a mirror when she entered the kitchen. She watched him as she approached the table. He didn’t seem to notice her as he set the mirror down with a disappointed sigh, and reached for the bottle of firewhiskey. It wasn’t even seven in the morning yet. 

“Don’t even think of opening that bottle,” Hermione commanded sternly, unwilling to let his behavior contine another moment. Flicking her wand, she sent the bottle teetering along the table, deliberately out of his reach. They all had their vices to cope, but this was beyond ridiculous!

“What else have I got to do?” he said, echoing his sentiments from the day before. Hermione vanished the bottle when Sirius made a grab for it, nearly laying across the table to get at it. “Hey! That was my last one until Dung gets here later tonight!”

Ignoring his outrage, she said, “Well, for starters, you can write to Gringotts and put an offer on this property.” Watching him calculatingly, she produced the newspaper clipping she’d shown the twins and waving it in front of his face. Her actions distracted him enough that he actually took the paper and scanned it.

“Why am I renting a building in Diagon Alley?” he asked, brow furrowed so much his dark brows came together over his nose.

“For the twins’ joke shop,” she explained, giving him an expectant look. “They need a little help acquiring the premises.”

“A worthy investment for my family’s ill-gotten money,” Sirius said, genuine pleasure lighting up his face at the idea of sticking it to his family in such a way. 

“I figured you’d feel that way. Once you’ve sent the letter, I have more work for you to do as well,” she added, wordlessly summoning parchment, ink, and quill for him to make use of. 

“I’m not reading newspapers,” he declared, not bothering to glance up as he began drafting his letter.

“You’ve already made that abundantly clear. I was referring to the shop. The joke products don’t create themselves, and the twins are busy at Hogwarts. They left supplies and instructions with me for you to start stockpiling the merchandise for them,” Hermione informed him quickly.

“I suppose I could help out a bit,” he said magnanimously.

“Yes,” she agreed, the word clipped as she fought to keep from rolling her eyes at him. Guess it really was just a matter of which carrot -- or bone -- to dangle.

~

Not two days later a mass Azkaban breakout occurred. Ten of Voldemort’s most loyal and dangerous supporters out in the world again. And all of them most likely insane after their stint with the Dementors.

Sirius was sitting numbly at the kitchen table as he read about it in the Prophet. He was paler than Hermione had ever seen him, and after a look from Remus, she excused herself and let her love handle his friend.

Hermione was rather impressed when Remus informed her later that afternoon that Sirius was in the Potion Room preparing products for the Weasley twins instead of getting drunk as he’d used any excuse to do the last several months. Apparently, having a job he enjoyed gave him the necessary motivation to remain sober, even in the face of this devastating news.

It was quite late when Albus joined them. Sirius had been picking at his supper, Remus and Hermione keeping him company rather than enjoying one of their last nights together as he prepared to leave again.

“Remus, I know I’d asked you to join another pack as you did before, but things have changed,” Albus intoned wearily. He sunk into the seat at the head of the table and practically deflated. This year was taking a toll on him. One that he’d apparently given up trying to mask. At least for that night.

“What do you need me to do?” Remus asked, glancing at Hermione as he did. They both knew it wouldn’t matter what was asked of him. He would step up. That was what it meant to belong to the Order. The mission came first. Everything else was second. Even their own hearts.

“Act as a look out in Hogsmeade. Dolores is watching my every move, so I cannot move about as freely as needed to protect the school,” Albus requested. 

He looked smaller as he admitted to needing help in this regard. Hermione couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for him to know he might fail those he was charged with caring for. Hogwarts had always been everything to him, and he was incredible at making sure the students had a safe place in which to flourish.

“Of course,” Remus agreed at once.

“Let me go as well,” Hermione requested, saying the words without thought, and knowing it was only partly because she was reluctant to part with Remus after getting used to being together these last weeks.

“Absolutely not,” Albus refused at once, staring at Hermione as though she had the beginnings of a hippogriff head sprouting from her forehead for even suggesting such a ludicrous idea.

“This is partly my fault. I am responsible,” Hermione admitted, wringing her hands as she forced herself to meet his eyes.

“You’re what?” Sirius demanded harshly, anger radiating out of the man seated across the table from her. “How could you endanger Harry like this?”

“Indirectly,” Hermione clarified, barely sparing him a glance as she directed her explanation primarily to Dumbledore. “A comment I made may have set this in motion.”

“What comment? To whom?” Sirius demanded, immediately spotting the problem with her words. She, like him, never left the house. That meant her interactions were limited. Probably, he was assuming they had a spy again. And she could bet his thoughts had gone straight to Severus as the most likely culprit.

“All the more reason you should remain here. We can’t afford to have anything else change from what you remember,” Albus insisted, giving her a hard, disappointed look.

Refusing to cower in the face of his censure, Hermione quickly said, “But see, that’s the thing, this did happen during my time.” She exchanged a meaningful look with Dumbledore. His lips parted slightly, and she watched the calculating twinkle in his blue eyes sorting out the significance of what she was saying.

For several long minutes, no one spoke, each waiting for Dumbledore to process the implications of what this meant. Finally, he pushed his half-moon spectacles up from where they’d been resting on the tip of his nose, ready to fall off. With a sigh, he shook his head, saying, “I fear it’s too great a risk should you be captured or seen.”

Hermione pulled out her wand and set about transfiguring her appearance. Her wild amber curls straightened, becoming a sleek, straight curtain of shimmering, icy blonde hair. And her burnt-honey eyes lightened to a radiant, pale blue topaz. She’d used Fleur as inspiration, knowing red hair was too often associated with the Weasleys these days. And she knew all it would take was altering a few characteristics given her increased age to make her unrecognizable, especially after she gave herself dimples and made her nose a touch more pert, the end tipping up just a notch.

She looked about the table, waiting on the verdict, but had to smile when she saw Remus’s nose wrinkle at the sight of her. It was gratifying to know he preferred her natural appearance to Fleur’s flawless, unparalleled perfection.

“Please, Albus. Let me do this,” Hermione insisted, pleading with him to understand where she was coming from, and to trust her with this. “I can’t recall anything happening, but I have to do something to make certain things remain the way I remember them.”

“Why can she go when you never let me out -- even disguised?” Sirius demanded, outraged at the unfairness of the situation. “And what comment? When could you possibly --” Sirius began again, seeming to realize his previous inquiry had been glossed over, and that he was the only one seeking answers about how this had happened in the first place.

“If this did happen before, and she believes she initiated it, perhaps she is supposed to be there,” Remus said, talking over his friend. Remus, at least, seemed to understand Albus had no intention of pursuing that line of questioning. The information was too dangerous, with the potential to alter too much.

“ _I said_ \--” Sirius tried once more, but Albus held up a hand to forestall him.

“Nevermind that now,” Albus said airily, before focusing on Remus. “You think she was always here, pulling strings behind the curtain?”

“It makes sense,” he replied, thinking of the few things she’d shared about things that had already happened this year. “She must have always been at your side.”

“I’ll have a better chance of keeping Harry safe,” Hermione said, sensing he was close to caving. “The rest of the students as well.”

“What if you’re caught?” Sirius asked, rigid steel underlying his words. He’d not appreciated the way they’d ignored his concerns, but now that it seemed like her doing this was a real possibility, concern for Harry had taken over. Taking precedent even over his own disgruntlement over remaining locked up.

“I’ll die before I give Voldemort anything -- including a chance to see inside my head,” Hermione vowed.

A muffled sound of distress escaped Remus at her words, and Albus looked between the pair, seeing more than he should, or perhaps just seeing confirmation of what he’d already suspected.

“Very well,” Albus concluded, steepling his hands beneath his chin as he took in her and Remus. “Alberforth has agreed to lend a room above the pub for you to reside in for the time being. I trust you won’t mind sharing? But when Alastor returns from his current task, he will take over for the pair of you.”

~

Hogsmeade

It was Valentine’s Day, and Hogsmeade was crawling with students out and about for the weekend trip. The dreary, rainy weather was in no way a deterrent to their desire to escape the confines of the castle, and Umbridge’s reign of tyranny, for an afternoon. Remus and Hermione, each having transfigured their appearances so that they wouldn’t be recognized, were currently tailing Harry while he was on his date with Cho Chang while Tonks and Hestia Jones patrolled the rest of the town. 

The last month had been by-and-large uneventful. Not that Hermione minded. It was vastly better than the alternative. Mostly, she and Remus had simply spent their days wandering the streets or doing other work for the Order. Hermione was still making potions for the school and Remus was still editing his book in their spare time. Once a week, they took turns checking in on Sirius, but he was doing surprisingly well, having thrown himself into product development with gusto.

“Ah, just your sort of place,” Remus teased, taking in the red and pink streamers, paper hearts, and frilly doilies decorating Madam Puddifoot’s.

“Bite your tongue,” Hermione hissed, not appreciating his idea of humor just then.

“Are you saying you don’t want me to bring you here for our anniversary?” Remus asked, his mock disappointment ruined when his eyes crinkled with mirth. 

He’d disguised himself as well for their chaperone duty, darkening his hair until it was nearly a stygian black and replacing the blue of his eyes with a green the shade of spring leaves newly budded. The coloring didn’t go well with his complexion, making him look waxy and sickly, particularly in light of the full moon less than a week earlier. But with a few other tweaks, not one of the students had recognized him.

“I’m saying there’s no way I will ever willingly step foot in there,” Hermione stated, completely serious.

“Well, unfortunately, you’re going to have to. Unless you’re willing to stand out here getting drenched while we wait for Harry, and that might look a tad suspicious,” Remus pointed out practically.

“Oh, very well,” Hermione said, sighing in resignation.

They ended up seated two tables away from Harry, and were careful not to draw his notice as they took their seats. Remus muttered, “ _Repello Oculi,_ ” to make the eyes of anyone that tried to look their way slide right past.

“ _Muffliato_ ,” Hermione added, so that they wouldn’t be overheard either.

“Am I just imagining it, or are things not going well for Harry?” Remus asked, frowning as he studied the pair.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Hermione muttered, wishing she could look away, but it was like watching a train wreck. The way a tragedy inevitably demanded attention even when it shouldn’t.

“Is this his first date?” Remus asked when five minutes had passed without either of the students speaking. Harry seemed horrifyingly enthralled watching a nearby couple snogging, so much so he appeared to have forgotten Cho was even with him.

“Yes,” Hermione said, shaking her head when Cho followed Harry’s line of sight. She’d asked him a question, but he’d not even acknowledged her.

“Has Sirius told you about James and Lily’s first date?”

“No!” Hermione gasped, eager to hear about it after all the other stories Sirius and Remus had shared over the last few months, and after reading Remus’s stories. She felt almost as though she’d been friends with Prongs as well.

“He took her to the Astronomy Tower -- that was all the rage back then -- so while not original, at least it was romantic, and for James, not over the top,” Remus paused, smirking mischievously. “That was part of why it went well.”

“Only part of the reason?” Hermione prompted, curiosity mounting as she waited for more.

“They were interrupted by Filch. Since the Tower is out of bounds except for class, they ended up racing through the corridors until James created a distraction so Lily could get back to their dorm, and maintain her unblemished record. James got caught, and accepted all the punishment. After that --”

“Oh, you’ll talk to Hermione Granger! But you won’t talk to me! P-perhaps it would be best if we just… just p-paid and you went and met up with Hermione G-Granger, like you obviously want to!” Cho whined, tears beginning to stream down her face more earnestly with each word.

The sound of her name had startled both Hermione and Remus, who broke off immediately to stare dumbfounded at the commotion -- as was everyone else in the shop.

“Cho?” Harry asked, glancing about at the people watching while Cho began wiping her face with a frilly napkin. Oh, Merlin! Harry was so out of his element with this one.

Hermione still remembered the first time Harry had made Gin cry. He’d Flooed Hermione asking what to do. After she’d gotten through gaping at him, and told him to try talking to the witch, she had to admit it was rather unusual for Ginny to cry, and therefore a bit more understandable for him to have been at such a loss.

“Go on, leave! I don’t know why you asked me out in the first place if you’re going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me… How many are you meeting after Hermione?” Cho cried, pressing her napkin back to her face.

Remus raised a single eyebrow at that, a question plain on his face. As well as no shortage of amusement. 

“It’s not like that!” Harry announced, laughing even as Hermione groaned at his reaction, predicting that it wasn’t likely to end well for him.

Cho got up, clearly haven taken offense to his laughter. Probably she thought he was making fun of her. The few tables not watching their spectacle before were all avidly taking it in now. It was better than most of the Quidditch matches, truthfully, though far more morbid. 

“I’ll see you around, Harry,” Cho declared, turning and leaving him wreathed in stares.

“Cho!” Harry called weakly, but she was already gone.

They followed a muttering, brooding Harry all the way to the Three Broomsticks.

“Should I be jealous?” Remus asked, face carefully blank.

“Ugh! Harry’s like my brother. Always has been -- which you already know,” Hermione said, catching sight of the smile he’d been concealing.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Did you know it went so poorly?” Remus asked as they neared Harry’s new destination.

“No,” she admitted, adding, “he downplayed the disaster.”

“You don’t like her,” he said, detecting a hint of her true feelings that stubbornly leaked through.

“Not particularly,” Hermione said frankly, pursing her lips at the mere thought of Cho Chang.

“Can you tell me why?” Remus asked delicately. He was always so very careful still not to seek more of the future than she could safely reveal. 

“She tried to get back with Harry after the war ended. She gave an interview that greatly exaggerated her significance to Harry and their time together,” Hermione said carefully, painstakingly judging what was safe to say.

“She didn’t,” Remus said flatly, betrayal etched into his unfamiliar face. Hermione had momentarily forgotten that Remus would have known Cho from his stint teaching at Hogwarts.

“She didn’t start out to betray him,” she acknowledged, trying not to let her bias for Harry cloud her more than it already did. “They’d had lunch together, where she thanked Harry for everything, and from his perspective seemed like they’d end up as friends, but Rita Skeeter cornered her afterwards, twisted it all around and referenced their former relationship at Hogwarts in her article. When Harry didn’t make a statement correcting Skeeter’s mistaken impression, Cho thought maybe it really was like that.”

“I imagine that didn’t go over too well with him,” Remus mused knowingly.

“Caused a few problems between him and Ron too,” Hermione said, wincing at the memory. Ron had immediately overreacted, assuming Harry had thrown his sister over. It hadn’t taken long for logic and sense to kick in, reminding him precisely how trustworthy Rita Skeeter was, but that didn’t erase their fight completely. “Considering he and Ginny were in the process of sorting things out at the time.”

“Ron’s the protective sort,” Remus said graciously.

“He has his moments,” Hermione agreed.

“Speaking of Rita Skeeter…” Remus began, trailing off with a nod at the table Harry had just joined where the reporter was sitting with Hermione’s younger self and Luna.

“I’m about to convince Harry to give an interview about what happened with Voldemort last spring,” Hermione explained.

“And he agrees?” Remus asked, thoroughly shocked.

“Reluctantly,” Hermione said, watching how uncomfortable Harry looked. She felt a tad guilty for having been the one to push him into doing it. “It’s the one and only interview he’ll ever give. At least, it was before my accident, but it was important to get people to believe him. They needed to know the truth.”

They’d been watching for a few minutes when Hermione noticed George and Tonks talking outside.

“Oh! There’s George. I really need to have a word with him,” Hermione gasped, turning to Remus.

“Go on, I’ll watch Harry,” he said, kissing her cheek and waving her away.

“Leave ‘em be,” Fred said, catching her arm as she made her way towards the laughing pair.

“So they --”

She didn’t get a chance to say more before Fred shrugged, interrupting to say, “She’ll succumb to his charms before too long. We Weasley men have a way about us. Except Ron, apparently.”

The was a silent question in his words, compounded by his assessing look. “We didn’t work out,” Hermione said in answer.

“Obviously,” Fred snorted, glancing back in the window of the Three Broomsticks where Remus could just barely be seen. “Though not really a surprise. This makes much more sense. I bet you and Ron were a ticking time bomb.”

She’d once worried the same, even if it hadn’t turned out that way in reality. She’d once hoped all that chemistry would translate into a sexual passion for one another. And when it hadn’t, she’d feared they’d unleash their tempers on one another again. Luck had been on their side. None of that had happened, and honestly, Hermione was counting down the days until Ron met Val. It’d be exciting watching them fall in love all over again.

“Did you get the notice I owled?” Hermione asked, referencing the newspaper clipping saying the Diagon Alley property was off the market. 

“Yeah, clever that,” he said, grinning. She’d figured that would be the best way to let them know it was a go without tipping off Umbridge. With any luck, she’d have thought they lost out on something they wanted.

“Here are some of the ideas Sirius has come up with for you to take a look at,” Hermione said, handing over a tightly rolled scroll that was at least four feet long when fully flattened.

“Excellent. We have some ideas that are currently stalled for him to look over too. Hopefully a fresh pair of eyes can help sort us out,” Fred said, producing a folder stuffed full of torn bits of parchment, containing far more ideas than the number Sirius had provided for her to pass on. But then, the twins had been doing this longer. “Been looking for you all morning. Only just recognized you, or I’d have had Tonks deliver these later.”

“I’ll pass them along,” Hermione promised.

“You still shacking up with Lupin at the Hog’s Head?”

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” Hermione mused, shaking her head at their antics. “Don’t come looking for me. Remus is heading back to the packs, and I’m headed back to Grimmauld Place at the end of the month when Moody gets back.”

Dumbledore was unsettled having her so close to people that could recognize her, and with the breakout, Voldemort was beginning to make headway with the packs, so Remus was needed to go back to his previous work. At least she’d gotten to feel useful for a while.

“Ah, well, I guess we can wait until the end of term,” Fred sighed.

“The end of your Hogwarts days will be here sooner than you think,” Hermione said, winking conspiratorially at him.


	13. 13: Mounting Tension All Around

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

PS I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 13: Mounting Tension All Around

March-April 1996

Hog’s Head Inn

“This is an unexpected surprise,” Hermione said, taking in the troubled look on Severus’s face. He’d come knocking on the door of the room she was sharing with Remus at the Hog’s Head.

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding in gratitude when she gestured for him to take the shabby wooden desk chair in the corner while she sat on the bed. 

When he said nothing, Hermione assumed she knew why he’d come. It was late on a Wednesday, far later than any of his previous visits, and he’d most probably come from a session with Harry. She asked, “How are the Occlumency lessons going?” It was a question she’d not dared ask before now, rightly assuming he’d not welcome discussing it. But now, when he’d come to her, she had a feeling something had changed.

“His memories…”

“Harry’s often said he can relate to you far more than he can James,” Hermione confessed, revealing a bit of the man Harry had grown into, that’d he’d freely acknowledge such a difficult and complicated truth.

“I -- We’re nothing alike,” Severus bit out harshly.

“Forgive me. I overstepped,” Hermione said at once, knowing it was a subject she’d need to tread carefully with.

Her easy capitulation earned her another glare. He despised when she openly handled him with kid gloves.

“He’s wasting my time. He’s not even trying to learn,” Severus complained critically.

“You’re worried about him,” Hermione noted, hearing the concern hidden beneath the frustration and annoyance.

“Not _him_. The problems he will be responsible for causing. He’s seen too much. Things he has no business seeing -- Rookwood, Avery, the Dark Lord,” Severus explained, dark clouds of suspicion brewing across his face. “I don’t know how to make him take this seriously, and stop letting those thoughts in. I don’t even understand why or how he is seeing as much as he is, and Albus refuses to ex--”

He cut himself off when Remus entered the room, having gone to Grimmauld Place to have dinner with Sirius while she remained to look after the town. Mad-Eye had been delayed with his mystery assignment from Dumbledore, so they were able to spend a few extra weeks on watch in the town, but this was to be their last few days. Then Hermione would have to say goodbye to Remus again for much of each week while he joined a new pack.

“Good evening, Severus,” Remus said kindly, not at all surprised to find the other man in his room so late at night.

“Lupin,” Severus said, standing. They were fairly close in height, though Remus had a great deal more muscle concealed beneath his robes.

“How are things at the castle?” Remus asked when Severus didn’t immediately depart. 

The few times Severus had come by to see her in recent weeks, he’d only stuck around so long as Remus didn’t try to make conversation with him. Hermione had asked each of them, in turn, to try and set their differences aside for her sake, but so far only Remus had been willing, and even his attempts were reluctant at best. She held her breath as she waited to see how Severus would respond now.

“That fat toad Umbridge is making a detestable position even more unbearable,” Severus announced with a sneer, though for once it was aimed at a deserving target.

“Yes, I find her rather loathsome myself,” Remus commiserated.

“I should be going. Professor Trelawney was just sacked and Albus is more concerned than ever,” Severus informed them. Remus looked ready to question him further, but the hard look on Severus’s face stalled him.

“Don’t forget, patience is a virtue,” Hermione advised, laughing at the scowl he leveled her with.

“When have I ever claimed to be virtuous? I think we both know that I am not,” Severus said, faint teasing coating his words. He was getting much better at it.

~

Muggle London

“What are we doing here?” Hermione asked. 

Remus had brought her to a red and white brick building with a large white dome protruding from the roof a ways away, and bronze statues visible along several of the well-maintained walking paths. There was something vaguely familiar about the place, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Mad-Eye is in Hogsmeade -- finally -- and I thought we might take a day for ourselves before I leave tomorrow,” Remus explained, taking her hand and leading her inside.

They’d spoken the day before about how different things would be with this new pack, and she was extremely apprehensive about it. He, at Dumbledore’s behest, was planning to join the last pack Greyback had been a member of, and therefore contained the werewolves most likely to align themselves with Voldemort. It would be Remus’s job to sway them, and deter them from joining his ranks. 

He’d warned that the members were significantly more aggressive and distrustful, and that he’d be checking in far less frequently. These were the werewolves known to kill for food on a regular basis, and to do so without an ounce of remorse. She was worried for him, but had so far managed to put a brave face on it for his sake.

Knowing he’d be interacting with those closest to Greyback brought back trauma from the war she’d falsely believed she’d buried in a bottomless chasm, never to see the light of day again. Memories she couldn’t bear to willingly think about, or explain to Remus about at this point in time -- not that he’d let her if she tried.

He still adamantly refused to let her shed more of the future than what slipped out unintentionally. Even when it involved him and his immediate actions. 

“So you brought me to the Royal Observatory Greenwich?” she asked, finally placing the location, and forcefully putting her worries aside to enjoy their outing together. She’d done a field trip there in her Muggle primary school before she’d gotten her Hogwarts letter.

“It’s the adult version of the Astronomy Tower,” Remus said, referencing his story of James and Lily’s first date.

“And far superior, seeing as we don’t have to worry about Filch interrupting,” Hermione said, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“Excellent point,” he agreed, throwing his arm around her shoulders to keep her nestled at his side.

After the observatory, they walked through Hyde Park, and had dinner at a little pub in the middle of London while they discussed the final revisions to Remus’s book and when it was to be officially published and available for purchase. For five extraordinary hours, they were able to forget the war and have a glimpse at what a life together could be like without the constant fear and strain. 

They laughed and teased. Confessed secret ambitions and long-held dreams. Debated politics and magical theories. The entire outing managed to be stimulating mentally, emotionally, and physically. The perfect trifecta. 

Incredible didn’t begin to cover it. It was a temptation too irresistible. Whispers urged her to do whatever it took to ensure many more such days occurred in the future -- the rest of the world be damned!

When they returned to the Hog’s Head for their final night’s stay, it was to find the room decorated with candles on every available surface and floating throughout the air, hovering at various levels. 

“Dance with me?” Remus asked, taking her hand, and pulling her into his arms.

Hermione felt his arm shift subtly behind her back, and a second later soft music filled the room and the wicks lit with a softly wavering golden glow. “How did you set this all up?”

“Nymphadora and Kingsley volunteered when I said I wanted to do something special to surprise you,” he said, spinning her until she giggled. “And I remembered you mentioning that you loved to dance.”

“I do,” she confirmed, although it had never made her blood sing the way it did when he held her close.

“Plus, I would use any excuse to get you in my arms,” Remus said slyly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively until laughter escaped from her, unbidden.

“I guess James and Sirius taught you well,” Hermione teased.

“They did. I’ve a few more tricks you’ve yet to see too,” he promised, dropping his head to press a kiss to the base of her throat.

“Mhh. It’s no wonder you’ve stolen my heart,” she breathed, letting her head fall back as he nuzzled her.

“Will you write to me again when I’m away?” he requested, trailing kisses up to just below her ear. 

“Everyday,” she vowed, pressing closer against him. His arms went around her, hands dipping lower to enticingly caress her bum.

“I’m taking your letters with me to have a piece of you. Reading them will keep me sane,” he said, tension creeping in. He was more worried about his mission than he’d let on. What he was doing was necessary. They couldn’t allow Voldemort to gain the superior numbers he once commanded. And he was the only one in a position to do what had to be done. No matter how much he loathed that simple truth.

“I don’t really want to think about that right now,” she said, looping her arms about his neck and tilting her head back. He took the hint and dropped a kiss on her waiting lips, relaxing into her hold once more.

Several hours passed before they fell into bed where Remus slowly, tenderly made love to her. Every intoxicating touch and lavish kiss left a permanent brand on her soul. 

He stroked her to new heights, dragging it out until she was nearly sobbing with need, completely wild for him. Her own hands and mouth were kept busy lighting a matching inferno in him. And when they finally crested the tsunami together, they tumbled into the frothy surf and let it carry them to the sunny, sandy beach where they basked in the glorious rays side-by-side.

“I have never loved another, Hermione. It has only ever been you, and there will never be another after you,” Remus breathed afterwards, unconsciously echoing her thoughts.

There could never be another for her either. The knowledge was as eternal and immovable as a monolith.

~

Grimmauld Place

Dumbledore arrived at Grimmauld Place amidst a flurry of bright purple and gold dressing robes and the strain of grim lines set into his rapidly aging face. He looked very nearly defeated, but he reigned it in when he caught sight of Hermione and Sirius staring at him, stunned.

“I have been ousted,” he announced stoically, chin held high.

“Impossible!” Sirius denied, looking to Hermione for confirmation, but returning his incredulous gaze to Albus before she could say or do anything. “You must be jesting.”

“I assure you that I have, indeed, been forced to flee the school, with Aurors out to arrest me on sight no less, and that this is no jest,” Albus said, a touch of weariness creeping into his voice despite his efforts to mask it. Sadness, and perhaps a hint of bitterness too. No one could deny his devotion to that school through the years. Hermione imagined it would be hard not to feel betrayed now.

Kingsley joined them before Sirius could further interrogate Dumbledore, sweeping in and giving Dumbledore a once over. Satisfied with what he saw, he nodded, making the dancing candlelight reflect off the smooth surface of his bald, dark head.

“My apologies --” Albus began, but Kingsley waved him off.

“It had to happen. Sold my allegiance with the Ministry,” Kingsley said easily, his deep voice a soothing balm. Then he turned to Hermione, and looked her over with fresh awareness, before stating, “You are one scary witch when crossed.”

“I don’t take betrayal lightly,” Hermione said calmly, without the least bit of guilt or regret.

“Evidently,” he agreed, shaking his head. “Does she ever manage to get rid of the spots?”

“No,” Hermione said, the word as hard as her resolve had been to protect the DA members.

Kingsley looked to Dumbledore, apparently wondering if he could have cleared up the spots. Hermione believed he could, given his wand, and now she too was wondering why he’d never intervened. “Occasionally,” he said slowly, glancing about before continuing, “visual reminders are important for driving a lesson home.”

“What about Harry?” Sirius asked, returning to his primary concern as he so often did, and the true danger that this change in circumstance presented.

“Minerva, Hagrid and Severus are there looking after him,” Albus said easily, but Hermione sensed he was worried. Sirius picked up on it too, a hunting dog catching the scent of a wounded animal.

“But --”

“Sirius, this was the only way to keep Harry in school,” Kingsley interrupted to justify Dumbledore’s decision to take the blame.

“Better me than him,” Albus agreed, nodding at Kingsley, grateful for the support.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Sirius argued. Probably at the idea that Severus was currently Harry’s best source of protection.

“The year is almost over, and we all know Voldemort won’t sulk about in the shadows forever,” Hermione interjected, catching Sirius’s eye and giving him a meaningful look, trying to silently promise this would work out and Harry would survive this new development. “Then Albus will be back.”

“But in the meantime?” Sirius pressed, unwilling to just let it go. Not when Harry was at risk and vulnerable.

“I give you my word that they will look after him, Sirius,” Albus said firmly, his tone leaving no room to be questioned or doubted.

“Hermione could return to Hogsmeade to help Mad-Eye,” Kingsley suggested, raising a brow at her to see if she was amenable to the idea.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed at once, nodding.

It wouldn’t be the same without Remus. She’d not seen him at all in the three weeks since he left. He’d had to make his reports to Kingsley or Mad-Eye, and Hermione had heard from them that even though this pack was much smaller, it was even more hostile than anticipated, so he’d not been able to slip away to see her as regularly as he had before. It was precisely what she’d feared.

At least she could be useful again. Not that anything was going to happen, but she’d feel more productive than she did just reading papers and making potions. Anything to keep her from dwelling on how much she missed Remus. She’d never been that sort of witch before, and she had no desire to become one now.

Sirius grumbled something about how he was just as capable of wearing a disguise and fighting if the need arose, but Albus ignored this as he always did.

“Of course,” Albus agreed, nodding at Kingsley as he seemed to ponder the idea of Hermione returning and found it an acceptable security addition to those he already had in place.

“Will I have a new cellmate then?” Sirius asked Dumbledore, smirking without the least bit of humor. Hermione pictured their general holded up directing troops from the main fortress. At least he wasn’t likely to fall into a bottle the way Sirius had. “Welcome to life as a fugitive -- may it treat you better than it has me.”

“Oh, no. No, I won’t be staying here. There are things I need to see about. Things that cannot be put off any longer. New information has recently come to light, and now I shall have the time to search out the pieces,” Albus said vaguely, grim determination settling over him like a heavy cloak.

Pieces…

Oh! He must have realized what was happening, worked out the clues behind why Harry could see through Nagini’s eyes. He was going to hunt down the information about the Horcruxes.

She followed him from the kitchen where she could hear Sirius asking Kingsley for more details about what just went down at the castle and how Harry was involved. 

When the Headmaster noticed her following him, he stepped into the dining room and waited to hear what she’d wanted to speak with him privately about. Hermione wasn’t sure when he’d find the ring, but she guessed it would be soon. By the end of June the curse would already have taken root and would be slowly killing him. That was only a little over two months away.

“Albus,” Hermione began, but paused at his warning look. “Please, promise you’ll be careful.” It hadn’t been what she’d wanted to say, but his look had stalled her, reminding her of the dangerous consequences.

“My hunch is correct then. I’m on the right track,” Albus said, nodding, and running a hand over his beard. Hermione watched as his eye’s lost focus, looking inward instead as he went over things. He was so solid. So real and alive.

“Don’t put on the ring -- it’s cursed,” she gasped, covering her mouth after the words slipped out. She’d not meant to say them, but watching him, this man that they all needed so desperately, she’d realized how much she didn’t want to lose him.

_What had she just done? How could she have been so reckless?_

If Albus didn’t put on the ring, he would not already have been dying when Severus killed him. It would be outright murder when that happened now. Assuming it still did. Or Draco Malfoy would become a killer. They weren’t friends, but he’d changed a great deal since the war, and she didn’t wish that for him.

The event itself would happen -- thanks to Severus’s Unbreakable Vow. Or he would be the one to die. She didn’t want to lose either of them. But how could she stop Severus from accepting the vow when Naricissa came to him? He’d had to in order to protect his cover. 

Everything was so entwined. Removing or altering a single thread made the whole thing unravel. She was trapped in a maze with nothing but dead ends, and no way out. 

“You’re rather well informed as to my plans,” he stated flatly, not chastising her as she’d expected.

“I am,” she admitted, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Except, that wasn’t what was happening. Dumbledore looked troubled. Confused even. Had he not been planning to tell Harry, and by extension herself and Ron? Here was one more piece of evidence that she was meant to be here, and that her actions now actually helped cause the events she remembered. So many necessary pieces required to make a complete picture. “I’ve said it before, but you’re not alone. Trust is important if we’re to win,” she tried.

“I need to prepare Harry, include him in my plans -- in case I am no longer available to do what must be done,” Albus said, nodding to himself, apparently rearranging his plans. “It is more vital than ever that Harry learns Occlumency if this is to be our course.”

“Albus --”

“I think you’ve said quite enough for one evening. Don’t you?” he asked pointedly, giving her a measured look that pierced her with his cool, blue eyes. Chips of ice were less frosty just then.

“Yes,” she whispered, dropping her head like a misbehaving schoolgirl.

He was right. They couldn’t afford to take shortcuts. Not with this. Too much was at risk, and he understood the risks. At least now he knew about the ring. He could decide for himself what to do with the information. She’d done all she could to save him, anymore would endanger them all. 

~ 

Hogsmeade

The lull continued through April, much as it had before with Hogsmeade operating the same as it always had in the past. One would never know a mass breakout from Azkaban with ten convicts on the loose had recently occurred or that things were weeks away from going to hell.

The knock at her door had her jumping up to open it, hoping it was Remus. It was going on six weeks now since she’d had more than a note from him, and she’d been unable to owl any of her letters to him because of the sensitive information they contained -- including her very existence. 

Instead, when the door swung wide, she saw a brooding Severus. It was the first time she’d seen him since potentially complicating his life, even if he wasn’t yet aware of what she’d done.

“I didn’t expect you to leave the castle,” Hermione said, frowning at him.

“Umbridge is preoccupied sorting out the chaos the Weasley twins left behind during their… eventful and memorable departure,” he said disdainfully, brushing past her and beginning to set out potion ingredients on the room’s tiny wooden desk. The scarred surface denoting the lack of care the room’s previous occupants had taken.

“So you came here?” she asked, having the impression that she was missing something.

“I require assistance brewing Veritaserum,” he said in a clipped voice that was far sharper than normal. Each word seemed to leave a small nick on her flesh where the pointed barbs caught.

“What’s happened?” she questioned, knowing he didn’t really need her help and had actually come to confide in a friend.

“I need replacements. I was forced to replace all of my stock with water to prevent Umbridge using it on that boy,” he sneered, loathing coating the word boy. Hermione blinked, startled to hear him refer to Harry with such visceral hatred. 

“Severus, what happened?” she repeated more forcefully.

“As if you don’t know. I’m sure he went straight to you afterwards. Gloating over what he saw,” Severus said, crossing his arms defensively. The pieces coming together to form a clear picture in her mind. Harry had seen Severus’s memory. But that would have happened weeks ago. Had he been letting it fester within him this whole time?

“He never told us why you’d stopped giving him Occlumency lessons. We didn’t find out until after the war,” Hermione promised, catching Severus’s startled look at the revelation. “And he was really upset over what James and Sirius did. It completely changed his perspective of --”

“He had no right to view my memories and invade my privacy!” Severus yelled.

“He’s a teenage boy -- one known to be overly curious. Restraint has never been one of Harry’s finer qualities,” Hermione pointed out, refusing to take offense as he unleashed his pent up anger on her.

“That does not excuse his actions!” he insisted, speaking through gritted teeth.

“So just ignore him like you have been all month. He won’t bring it up, nor will he share what he saw,” Hermione stated flatly.

“Chop the devil’s breath root into two inch sections,” he ordered, making it clear he was through discussing the matter with her. “Use the glass knife, not the silver one.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but did as instructed, knowing the plant had long been used by Muggles for its truth-telling properties. They worked in companionable silence for close to three hours, each seeming to have needed the comfort of company even if they weren’t talking.

“Her--” Remus began, slipping into the room without knocking first. Aberforth must have told him what room she was in. But he broke off at the sight of her other visitor. “Severus,” Remus said quietly. Hermione couldn't decipher the many emotions she heard in his voice, but they were clearly complex.

“Lupin,” Severus said stiffly, suddenly more tense than he’d been when he arrived.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” Remus demanded, shocking Hermione with the forcefulness of his question, as though he were itching for a fight.

“Pardon?” Severus asked, lips curling in a way that declared he was more than prepared to have this out, and was actually looking forward to the prospect.

“I just spoke to Harry,” Remus announced, catching Hermione off guard. She’d not put the events Severus had mentioned earlier -- the twins’ grand exit from Hogwarts -- together with why they’d done it in the first place. To give Harry a chance to talk to Sirius. “You’re refusing to give Harry Occlumency lessons? He didn’t mean anything by --”

“Are you trying to say he tripped and fell into my memories? I find that highly suspect,” Severus said coldly, leveling Remus with an icy glare.

“Sirius was set to come up to the castle himself and have a talk with you,” Remus said, conveying the seriousness of the issue, and the risk the man was willing to take to ensure Dumbledore’s directive was carried out.

His words struck a chord. Remus had been with Sirius when Harry contacted him through the Floo in Umbridge’s office. She felt irrationally hurt that he’d used what little free time he had to visit Sirius and not her when it’d been over a month since they last saw each other.

“Oh, I’d so enjoy that,” Severus hissed.

“You were with Sirius?” Hermione asked, wondering why he’d gone to him first rather than come to her. The war made demands on their time. She understood that. But she’d thought that, perhaps, she was a priority for him.

“Yes,” he said curtly, offering no more explanation.

“Is it any wonder the boy is as reckless and dismissive of rules with an example like that,” Severus taunted, making Hermione sigh in exasperation. Of course Severus was going to use this as an opportunity to get a few digs in at Sirius and inevitably rile everyone up.

“You’re ignoring the matter --”

“Look, I’m sorry for my behavior in the past. I can’t change it, but I do owe you a sincere apology for my past actions, and for not putting a stop to my friends,” Remus said quietly, speaking over Hermione.

“Do you feel better about yourself now? Words mean little when they are only said now to assuage a guilty conscience,” Severus sneered, eternally unwilling to forgive the past slights made against him. “Or as a show for your girlfriend.”

Remus was visibly upset by Severus’s words. Regret a bitter tang in the air, unpleasant and oppressive. Hermione moved to place a hand on his arm, but he shifted away, stiff and unyielding. 

She tried to catch his eye, but he refused to look at her. And the instant they did make eye contact, Remus shamefully averted his eyes, somehow unwilling to see her opinion of him after knowing she’d learned of his youthful misdeeds.

All those fears and doubts he’d harbored. That endless well of unworthiness, it was all striped bare and exposed. A raw nerve. Agonizing in the extreme.

“Remus, I promise it won’t matter that Severus doesn’t continue Harry’s lessons,” Hermione tried, attempting to remove at least one of his concerns.

“But Albus said he must. That it is imperative,” he said, appealing to Severus with barely a glance at her to acknowledge she’d spoken. 

“What will happen, will happen. Nothing can stop it at this point,” Hermione stated, knowing it to be true. 

There just wasn’t enough time, and with the piece of Voldemort’s soul inside Harry, it was impossible for him to shut the door between them -- at least on Harry’s end. He’d given her such a hard time after the war for all her constant nagging on the subject.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Remus asked, finally looking at her. She tried not to take offense at his tone. It wasn’t really his fault. And she was used to Teddy doing the same over the years. It’d get worse and worse as the full moon approached, then vanish abruptly when the moon waned.

“Hermione,” Severus warned, referencing their previous conversation on altering the future. He was far more cautious than her, unwilling to let her risk her own life or the outcome they so desperately wished to preserve. 

When had she become the reckless one? That had always, _always_ , been Harry’s role.

“I can’t,” she breathed, shaking her head.

Remus looked from her to Severus, his jaw setting though he’d visibly paled at the reminder of how dangerous her answer could be. Because he too was more cautious than her when it came to the future. 

The timer dinged, indicating that the potion had completed simmering, and was ready for the final step before it spent the next moon cycle maturing.

“Since you’re obviously busy, I’ll leave you to it,” Remus said coolly, shifting a glance between the pair of them again. 

Hermione gasped. He couldn’t really mean to leave already. They’d not even had a chance to talk. But Remus was already turning on the spot and vanishing with a loud _crack!_

“Remus, wait,” Hermione called into the empty air, but he’d already Disapparated.

She stared, dumbfounded. Not to mention more than a little hurt by the events of the last ten minutes. It was the first time they’d ever fought. If you could call what just happened a fight. Funny, she’d never had a problem telling Ron or Harry off when they were treating her poorly or being unaccountably rude, but she’d not said a word in her defense just then.

“The moon is this week,” Severus said awkwardly, apparently trying to justify Remus’s curtness as he watched her wearily. Probably, he thought she was about to burst into tears, and he didn’t want to have to deal with a crying witch so it was better to circumvent the incident altogether.

“It’s fine,” Hermione said briskly, waving his excuse aside even as she felt her lips pursing while she ran through the events in her head, attempting to determine where the wrong turn had occurred. Finally, she added, “But you could have accepted his apology.”

“I lost my best friend in part because of him,” Severus said defensively, trying to validate his refusal.

“You lost her because you made a mistake,” Hermione countered, wanting him to take possession of his mistakes. He was not entirely without blame himself. And he was old enough to take responsibility for his actions.

“I wouldn’t have if --”

“You called her a Mudblood,” Hermione pointed out flatly, pinning him with a penetrating look.

“Do not say that word,” he hissed, eyes flaring at her casual use of the despicable insult.

“I don’t have the luxury of forgetting what I am,” Hermione said coolly, yanking the sleeve of her robe up to reveal the cursed scars spelling out ‘Mudblood’ on her arm. Deep, open wounds, raw and angry. Each of which looked ready to ooze with her ‘foul’ blood at any moment.

“Who?” he breathed, horrified. 

Hermione watched as he brought tentative fingers towards the never-healing cuts. They hovered an inch above, not daring to actually touch the split, pink flesh of her brutalized arm. She’d long ago lost all sensation in the area, a permanent numbing spell placed on the area her only option for treatment.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her head. That hadn’t been her point in showing him. She’d simply wanted him to see that ignoring a thing didn’t make it go away. “Lily made a mistake too -- by not forgiving you.”

“I didn’t deserve it. Not back then,” Severus declared, displaying a surprising level of introspection on his part even as he continued staring transfixed at her scars. Hermione let her sleeve drop, removing the unsightly visage from his field of vision.

“Well, then perhaps it was worth it, because you’re a worthy man now,” Hermione stated, believing it whole-heartedly.

“Why do you persist in trying to be friends with me?” Severus asked, startling her.

“When you’re not acting like an ass, you’re quite witty, intelligent, and loyal,” Hermione announced, realizing even as she said it, that it was the truth.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, reluctantly letting his lips form a semblance of a smile. It reminded her of when she’d thanked him months earlier.

They finished brewing in silence. Hermione spent most of the time stewing over Remus, caught up in how passively she’d let the whole incident go down. Wrapped up in how much different it had been from her fights with Ron. Or any of the other guys she had dated for that matter. It was so easy to put them in their place when they disagreed. She’d never really cared if she angered them. Having Remus seemingly dismiss her, was unexpected coming from Remus, even if she knew he was experiencing the influence of the pack and upcoming moon on top of other feelings of insecurity and self-doubt.

She was ready to have done with all of it and begin the life she’d had the fleeting glimpse of during their London outings. 

Two more years. They just had to get through two more years of this.


	14. 14: Preparations

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 14: Preparations

April-June 1996

Hog’s Head Inn

Remus returned to her the morning after the full moon. Deep scratches stripped his face, and he was ashen. Probably from blood loss. He stood, shifting abashedly and looking ready to expire on his feet. Exhaustion stooped his shoulders, and Hermione wordlessly ushered him inside her small, rented room. 

He moved with a limp, shuffling his feet and wincing as he moved, but he held up a hand to stop her when she moved to tend his wounds as she had in the past. 

Swallowing, she went to rummage on her desk for the tin of salve she always kept on hand for him, and extended it out to him when she located it. He gave a single nod, and pocketed it before pressing his hand to his side. Judging from his ragged breaths, he had at least one broken rib. Aside from that, he offered no other greeting.

Just how bad were the fights he was forced to endure to be part of the pack? And how often was he expected to participate? Hermione knew from her work that killing was often involved too -- for food and resources as well as rank. They’d yet to discuss anything he’d been through since his circumstances changed with the new pack.

He didn’t meet her eye as he said, “I’m sorry about the other day.”

“Me too, though I don’t really understand what happened,” Hermione stated, crossing her arms protectively. There was something going on with Remus that she didn’t understand. They’d been apart too much lately, and even as they stood in the same room, she could feel him pushing her away. “Does it have to do with the pack?”

“The pack... “ he said wearily. “Merlin, I… it’s...”

“Remus, talk to me. Please,” Hermione begged, not understanding why he was shutting her out.

“Why are you trying to be friends with him?” he asked, abruptly changing topics, distrust a curtain shading his eyes. “Don’t you understand how dangerous he is?”

“Because I see what you somehow can’t,” Hermione said tersely, not particularly wishing to discuss Severus Snape when they clearly had bigger issues.

“Do you know what Harry saw?” he asked hoarsely, ducking his head and shifting unconsciously away from her.

“I’ve seen the memory too,” she admitted, comprehension dawning on her.

“You have?” Remus asked, sounding tortured. Distress marred his face, twisting it into harsh lines and ridges.

“Yes,” Hermione repeated, sympathy seizing her heart in an iron grip.

“None of us made a particularly good showing that day,” he said dryly, laughing harshly. It was a bitter, angry rasp that made Hermione wince when it knocked into her, rougher and sharper than she’d have thought possible.

“No. And I’ve a feeling that there were many other instances just like it,” she acknowledged, figuring it’d be best to fully address the issue rather than skirt around it.

“I’m so ashamed,” he admitted frankly, stepping back to lean dejectedly against the wall.

Hermione didn’t point out that he hadn’t been the instigator. His lack of interference made him just as culpable, and he knew it. He watched it happen. Watched as his friends publicly humiliated and bullied someone. Watched them taking pleasure in it. And he didn’t speak up against the injustice. Hermione had seen the statistics of teen suicides. Many, perhaps even most, of them were a result of people being victimized by their peers. Cruelty, even passive cruelty, had disastrous consequences. 

She also didn’t try to absolve him. It wasn’t her place. She loved him despite his past. Loved the man it had helped shaped him into becoming. A fact he was more than aware of. He’d have to find a way to make peace with his past on his own terms if he ever had any hope of moving forward.

“You weren’t alone, and you’re not the same person anymore,” she stated simply when he finally looked at her. 

“And when you look at me…”

“I see the man I love -- even when he’s a right git,” she announced, offering a wry grin, and hoping humor would lift him from the hole he’d sunk into.

“I want you to be careful around Severus. That day… I remember it. He has no fondness for Muggle-borns,” Remus said sadly, confusion and suspicion weaving tendrils around him, planting seeds of distrust that would grow in the coming year with the events soon to take place. “He still doesn’t -- not for any in connection with me.”

“He doesn’t really feel that way,” Hermione said flatly, the future playing out in her mind. This, right here, was part of why it was so easy for everyone to believe the worst about Severus. He hid his true nature too well. “That was said in the heat of the moment because he was embarrassed. He was a rash teenage boy. He didn’t truly mean it,” she insisted, knowing it was a lost cause. Remus was already shaking his head.

“You can’t really believe that. You weren’t even there! You haven’t known him long enough,” he said quickly, frustrated that she’d argue this point. It was as though he couldn’t believe she didn’t trust him. “You didn’t hear --” but he broke off the last without finishing, and his look was positively tortured.

“I know more than you do on this subject,” she said, reminding him of the advantages of her position.

“What could you possibly know that could change the facts?” he asked skeptically.

“I’m sorry, Remus. This is not my secret to share,” Hermione moaned, letting her head fall back as she sighed. The first time he actually wished to discuss what she knew of the future, and she couldn’t. 

It was so frustrating having her hands so thoroughly tied! 

But she couldn’t betray Severus’s trust. He didn’t want anyone to know the truth of his feelings for Lily. Particularly not one of his childhood tormentors. And they clearly never suspected the truth. So many others had used Severus and taken advantage of him. Hermione couldn’t do that to him as well. Even if she knew she could trust Remus not to use or share anything she revealed. She still couldn’t tell him.

“Secret?” Remus asked slowly, rolling the word around in his mouth, a sampling of an intriguing and complex wine, before he released it. He studied her intently, almost predatorily. 

There were so many secrets between them. So much she wasn’t at liberty to discuss, or he refused to hear. Weren’t partners supposed to speak openly with one another? Had her limitations doomed them from the outset? 

Would it be fair to confess everything and force him to shoulder the burden with her? He’d never asked to be part of it. If anything, he’d been deliberately careful not to learn more than necessary so as to avoid that fate. The few times she’d tried to share without warning him that she was, he’d subtly steered the conversation in a different direction or warned her not to say more.

And of course there was the issue that if she did tell him everything -- how would that impact and alter the decisions he made? Could it lead to him taking fewer precautions, falsely believing a situation safe, only to end up dead as a result? Would that change things for the worse? And how much didn’t she know about because she’d been at Hogwarts and not in the Order? It was all so frustratingly, infuriatingly complicated!

Then there was Teddy. When they’d gotten together, it seemed like they had forever to figure out what to do about him, but the clock was rapidly ticking down, and Remus was still refusing to discuss his son.

“Speaking of secrets,” Hermione began, determined to at least try and broach the subject. It wasn’t as if this conversation could deteriorate much further. And she’d really rather talk this through with him than approach Tonks, but she might have to go to the other witch if Remus was going to continue being stubborn. Maybe he’d listen to her instead. “Don’t you think it’s time we discuss your son?”

“No. Actually, no. I don’t want to talk about it… _him_ ,” Remus said forcefully. “You were right before. We shouldn’t discuss what you know of the future at all.”

“We can’t put it off forever,” Hermione said gently.

From the expression that flickered over Remus’s face, it looked like he was considering doing that very thing.

“Now isn’t the time. I have to get back. I just didn’t want to leave things strained between us,” Remus said, laughing hollowly as he watched her, a continuously widening gulf between them.

Ironic. Because now, as she watched him limp as he made for the door to leave, she felt even more unsettled.

“Remus,” she called, making him pause on the threshold. Evidence of his injuries was a slap in the face. A wake-up call regarding the dangers he faced on a daily basis. “Come back to me,” she whispered, a plea dredged up from the marrow of her bones, the base of her soul.

“Always,” he replied, casting her a look so tender and full of love that she knew, no matter what obstacles they faced, or the difficulty involved, they could overcome them.

~ 

“Macnair and Travers are in the outskirts of Salisbury,” Severus said once he’d ducked into her upstairs room at the Hog’s Head Inn at the start of June. Agitation and stress made his tone more waspish than normal.

She’d been going over her memories again. Severus had loaned her Dumbledore’s Pensieve again, and she’d painstakingly gone over her memories of the day leading up to the Battle in the Department of Mysteries as well as the battle itself -- at least the part she was conscious to take part in. The rest she had recountings from the others to use to piece a timeline together. She’d laid it all out, every single minute as she came up with a feasible plan to try and save Sirius. 

At least as much as she could. It was aggravating and alarming to learn the Pensieve had limits. The memories, when viewed, were only as clear as the person’s actual recollection of the event. Hermione’s memory of the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, an event she’d painstakingly prevented herself from dwelling on, was blurry and distorted. She’d not known she’d have need of it later. Entire chunks were altogether missing as a result. Then, of course, there was the small fact that her memory went blank halfway through the night.

The task had kept her occupied since her fight with Remus. There was nothing that could currently be done about that, but she could do something to prepare for what was to come.

“The ferry accident in Portsmouth?” Hermione asked, moving to look through the stack of papers she still sorted through each day.

“Giants,” Severus confirmed, watching her scan the article again. 

The Death Eaters had taken pains to cover up the incident. Far more than she’d suspected. It truly had appeared to be a horrible Muggle tragedy, and one occurring purely by accident. If he’d not come by, Hermione would have written the event off as unrelated.

Giants. Wonderful. Hermione may have worked diligently to see they received the rights they were due, but that didn’t mean she didn’t possess a healthy fear of them. Her first meeting with Grawp, then later, seeing them in action during the final battle, had forever cemented her phobia.

“Thank you,” she said absently, going to the dresser to begin packing her things. “Can you return Albus’s Pensieve to his office for me? I won’t need it again until this summer.” 

Mad-Eye was staying in the room next door, though he was currently patrolling the town. He’d be fine handling things on his own. Nothing had happened near the castle. 

It was far more important that they track the giants, and see where they were hiding. In just a few weeks, they’d be causing mayhem all over Britain. There would be no possibility of preventing anything or helping innocent Muggles if they didn’t follow this lead now.

“You’re not planning to go alone, are you? Have you forgotten you aren’t in charge here?” Severus drawled, raising an imperious brow at her, and crossing his arms. His stance made him look imposing as he towered over her, but he was easy enough to ignore.

“You brought this information to me, didn’t you?” she stated, continuing to gather her few possessions and toss them haphazardly into the bag she’d gotten to replace the old lavender beaded purse she’d carried around during the first war. This one was a steely blue leather clutch that fit just as nicely in her sock as the last one, except this time she didn’t have to worry about the beads scratching her thanks to the smooth surface. 

“Because you were closest! Without Dumbledore, I can’t share this with anyone else in the Order -- unless you’re suggesting I go to Grimmauld Place and have a chat with Black,” Severus argued, seeming to just realize she was truly planning to act on the intel he’d provided. 

What else had he expected her to do with it? Sit back and watch like a great, daft lump? There was a reason they had him spying -- so they could use what he learned!

It wasn’t like he could send a Patronus to some other Order member either. Not when it was a very telling doe. Only Dumbledore knew about that, and Hermione knew Severus took pains to keep it that way.

Of course, he could have gone to Moody with the information, but that would have meant dealing with a series of suspicious questions. The ex-Auror would never truly trust Severus, he was too well informed of the man’s sins. 

So instead, he’d come to her -- knowing she’d take his information seriously.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea just now,” she snapped, disliking how little faith he had in her ability to look after herself. 

It wasn’t as though she planned to engage them in battle, just keep track of them for now. And she’d kept Harry, Ron, and herself alive for months when they’d been on the run. This would hardly be different at all.

“It would be unwise and… _reckless_ to venture there alone,” Severus said cautiously, recognizing the thin ice he’d ventured onto -- smart man -- though he was no less determined to talk her out of her planned course of action. 

Hermione felt like she was channeling Harry. He’d always been so adamant that it all fell to him. That no one else could do it. Always so self-reliant. Never trusting others when he could do it himself. Right then, she understood him a little bit better than she had before. Perhaps it was that last year they spent together hunting Horcruxes that changed her opinion. And how his connection with Voldemort gave him extra insight -- an advantage he couldn’t ignore. Her history gave her the same thing. 

Right now, she knew someone needed to step up, and she was both available and willing. Why let someone else take the risk when she could just as easily?

“There’s no one else,” Hermione explained, pausing to stare Severus down. He was frowning at her, but he didn’t argue, knowing it was the unfortunate truth. “I’ll contact Kingsley if I run into trouble,” she promised, hoping to satisfy his concern. She truly was touched that he cared enough to worry about her.

“Not Lupin?” he asked, catching the significance of her statement.

“He’s busy wrestling with pack hierarchy,” she muttered, assuming that was why he’d not visited her specifically in the last two months, apart from the two stiff encounters.

They were fighting a war, each with their own missions. Hermione understood that. Understood that they didn’t have the luxury of putting their desires before what was asked of them. Perhaps if she reminded herself of that often enough, his absence would sting a bit less.

But right then, it didn’t make it any easier for her to sleep at night. Not when she and Remus really needed some uninterrupted time together to hash things out. And when she needed him to chase her nightmares away.

“The two of you are still quarreling, I take it,” Severus stated, referencing the interaction he’d witnessed.

“We aren’t quarreling -- not exactly, anyways,” Hermione grumbled, not really wishing to discuss the matter with him. He was the source of some of their current conflict, though Hermione sensed he wasn’t at the root of it.

“But?” Severus prodded, doing a remarkably good impression of a normal friend right then. It was enough to have Hermione opening up, despite her initial reluctance.

“I’m not sure he trusts my judgement just now, and there are things about the future he seems unwilling to confront,” she said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she toyed with her purse. “I’m not really sure what to do.”

“Talk to him. Do not leave things unsaid,” Severus advised, voice thick with years of suppressed emotion. “Regrets are far worse than a difficult discussion.”

“Easier said than done,” she sighed. “How much is too much, and when precisely am I supposed to have this conversation when we’re always miles apart these days?”

“I thought you were supposed to be clever. Marietta Edgecomb certainly benefited from that determined little brain of yours. Do you really mean to tell me you can’t figure out a way to stay in contact with the man you profess to love? Or is this simply a convenient excuse to be rid of the beast?”

A charmed bit of parchment. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She was already writing letters to him. And she knew Remus was going to spend the next year infiltrating the remaining three packs, so it wasn’t as though they would be free to be together anytime soon. And they certainly couldn’t continue as they were. 

“Severus, you’re a genius!” Hermione gasped, ignoring his traditional insult as charms flew through her head as she rapidly flipped through her mental lexicon of spells, discarding some in favor of others, and plotting how best to ward and create the necessary item. It would take some time, but eventually, it would help them tremendously.

“I’m aware,” he said drolly, smirking at the compliment. 

“So modest,” she quipped, standing again. As much as she wanted to dive straight in, and selfishly worry about the status of her relationship, there was work to be done first.

“Hermione, be careful. Do not engage with them directly,” Severus warned, sensing she was still determined to go.

Impulsively, Hermione threw her arms around Severus in a fierce hug. He stiffened noticeable, making no attempt to return the impromptu embrace. She fought back a grin as she released her stranglehold on the rattled man.

“That was entirely unnecessary,” he said briskly, straightening his robes to mask his discomfort at the unexpected display of affection.

“I promise I’ll only scout the area, see if I can get a handle on what they’re planning,” Hermione vowed, bending to shove her purse in her sock, and giving the room a cursory once over. She’d leave a note under Mad-Eye’s door to tell him where she’d gone if she couldn’t find him quickly enough. “I wish I could remember!” she gripped, hating that so much time had passed, and that her memory of events wasn’t as accurate as she wished it to be. 

Not to mention, she was kicking herself for not reading _The Second Wizarding War, A Thorough and Complete History_. Harry swore it was uncannily accurate, the author knowing far more than he or she should, and reporting events in a way that was the opposite of Rita Skeeter. But the wounds had been too fresh for Hermione, and she’d never gotten around to actually reading it. The book had been written by H. G. John, but she’d never heard of the person.

Oh.

The name suddenly registered. Remus was publishing under the name R. L. John to avoid people recognizing the actual author. But that would mean…

Had she written the book? Was this yet further proof that she’d always been meant to come back? And was the name a clue that they were --

“Do not mess with time,” Severus ordered, grabbing her arm to stall her progress towards the door, and sending her thoughts scattering, so many loosed marbles bouncing and rolling across the aged wooden floor.

“You know I already have,” she said quietly, wondering again at the realization she’d just made. Girlish desire filled her. An idealist’s hope, unusual for one so ordinarily practical.

“Foolish twit,” he accused, shaking his head, but not trying again to stop her from leaving.

~

Tutshill

The last few weeks had been a grueling process to remain unseen while following the horde of giants. There were eight -- _eight_ \-- full-blooded giants. A rather alarming sight. There had only been three remaining by the time the Battle of Hogwarts occurred. Five of the rare and endangered beings would cease to exist before the war was through. Hermione regretted the loss, for all the brutal beings terrified her.

In addition, there were three Death Eaters accompanying them. The third, Dolohov, joined the group a week after she’d begun tailing them. Hermione despised the man for the scared, trembling state he reduced her too each time she caught sight of him. 

For the most part, they were slowly heading northwest, avoiding towns. It was during her third week following them that they settled in at Mendip Hills. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the proximity of their location, just on the outskirts of the wizarding community of Tutshill -- home to all of the Bones family and the Travers family.

If Hermione didn’t already know they wished to go undetected, she’d be shocked at the group’s ability to show such restraint. Even when the giants fought amongst themselves, the Death Eaters took precautions to keep Muggles from discovering them. 

Without Severus’s warning, Voldemort would have been poised to strike a heavy blow against them. As it was, the most Hermione could do was warn where the attacks would begin at.

At least she’d been able to save a Muggle family that was camping a few nights earlier. She’d stumbled upon the little group when searching for a place to hide when the giants had begun fighting with one another. The event had rapidly turned violent with droplets of blood falling like ruby rain. Hermione had modified the family’s memories to make them believe a badger had gotten into their tent and torn it up, then sent them on their way as quickly as possible. 

She’d been lucky. Not ten minutes after the taillights of their car had vanished, the giants trampled over the remains of their campsite.

Two nights later, Hermione risked getting close enough to the Death Eaters’ campfire and using Extendable Ears to eavesdrop on their conversation. It was her last chance to learn anything useful. In order to successfully initiate her plan to save Sirius, she had just over four hours before she needed to be inside the Ministry.

“I think we’re being followed,” Macnair said, glancing around. Hermione swallowed back the instinctive fear that encircled her throat, threatening to constrict it. The Ministry’s dangerous beasts’ executioner looked undeniably paranoid -- despite his thick neck and biceps the size of tree trunks. But even his enormous strength was puny when compared to a giant’s.

“You’ve been saying that every day for a week now,” Travers dismissed boldly with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. He had the look of Sirius, diminished good looked, sallow sick, and lank hair. Azkaban was not kind to its confined inmates.

“Because I think we are! Don’t you feel it? That sensation of being watched -- it’s enough to make my skin crawl,” Macnair insisted, sneering at the other man.

“This land has been in my family for generations. Centuries of Purebloods have lived here. It’s just the potency of our magic that a weakling like you can’t handle,” Travers bragged, puffing out his chest importantly. It was a gesture Hermione had watched Percy Weasley do countless times.

“I’ve handled far worse than the likes of you or your precious family,” Macnair growled, lips pulled back to display his yellowed and broken teeth. 

The worst part was, he probably had. Because for every six misunderstood or malined creatures like Buckbeak, there was one that truly was rabid and dangerous that needed put down. Several that Hagrid himself had tried to make friends with over the years. It didn’t mean Macnair needed to enjoy doing it so much though. Hermione’s lips thinned at the thought, disgust with the abysmal man leaving her with the sensation that she needed a scalding hot shower and a thorough cleansing.

“Coward,” Travers goeded, laughing mockingly at his companion.

“There’s a reason I didn’t end up in Azkaban,” Macnair taunted.

The insult hit its mark, and Travers looked at him more seriously, asking, “How sure are you? Do you really think anyone in the Order is smart enough to find us?”

“Are you willing to risk _his_ wrath if you’re wrong?” Macnair fired back meaningfully.

“If they know what we’re up to, the Dark Lord must be informed at once,” Travers stated, pinning a look on Macnair, as though nominating him to be the bearer of such unwelcome tidings. 

Hearing that was enough for Hermione to know she needed to get out of there -- immediately. She’d heard more than enough. Particularly with the timing of events. They’d somehow detected her, and their warning, apparently, may have been the signal Voldemort needed to decide to trick Harry.

She inched back, attempting to put a bit more distance between them before she Disapparated so they wouldn’t hear when she left. The voices got quieter the further away she got, until she could only barely make them out.

A twig snapped, cracking loudly in the otherwise still night and silence abruptly descended.


	15. 15: Running Out of Time

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

Someone asked me if Tonks and George are even legal, and I want to clear that up before you read this chapter. Tonks is three and a half years older than George. George is 18 when he leaves Hogwarts, and she is 21. I’m not a huge fan of age differences unless the people involved are at similar points in their life. These two are by the time they get together. They’re both fighting in a war, which changes things and people’s priorities. They both have established careers and have their own homes. They’re on equal footing, so the slight age difference doesn’t create an unfair power dynamic between them.

PS I’m not J.K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 15: Running Out of Time

June 1996

Tutshill

The ominous breaking seemed to hover in the air, lingering noxiously like cheap perfume.

Hermione froze, hardly daring to breathe. If she were discovered…three Death Eaters and eight giants. It’d be over in no time. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about being taken to Voldemort and risking the information she possessed spilling.

“Did you hear that?” Macnair demanded, instantly alert.

Screw secrecy. She had to get out of there.

Quickly, Hermione turned on the spot, shooting a scathing look at the guilty pieces of wood in the process as she stepped off of them. Nothing. The Death Eaters must have erected an Anti-Disapparation barrier around their campsite, and Hermione had gotten too close. She was under the net. Trapped.

Hermione could barely draw in a breath. Panic made her limbs tremble and her palms slick with sweat. Her fingers squeezed her wand more tightly, preparing to fight or flee, she wasn’t sure which.

An eternity passed as she waited for a cue, a sign from the two to tell her what to do.

“No one is there. They’d have shown themselves by now if we were going to be attacked,” Travers finally concluded, annoyed to have been put on edge, or perhaps even deliberately spooked by his companion.

“I suppose,” Macnair said, clearly troubled.

“Or, wild thought here, but seeing as we’re in a forest, it could just be possible that it was an animal,” Travers said bitingly. The distance Hermione had already put between herself and the campfire made it difficult to make out all of the words, even with the Extendable Ears, but her mind helpfully supplied the logical words that she missed.

“In case you failed to notice, all the animals have deserted this little stretch of the woods,” Macnair pointed out. 

It was true. Hermione had noticed that weeks ago. The giants’ presence and their regular bouts of fighting had frightened the majority of creatures away, their survival instincts likely demanding they abandon the area for safer places.

“If you’re so sure it was something, you can go tell the Dark Lord right now,” Travers muttered, but the dismissive statement was edged with something shiny and bright. Eagerness. That was what she heard.

“You think he’ll move up the time table on his plans?” Macnair asked excitedly, probably bored sitting around waiting. He thrived on carnage and death, not hiding and sly manipulations.

Hermione sighed, slumping against the nearest tree in relief. That had been far too close for her liking. Sheer luck, and probably a fair amount of laziness was all that kept them from getting up to investigate. Which more than likely would have ultimately led to her death.

Hastily, she took a shaky breath and continued her progress through the trees, careful not to step on any more fallen branches.

“He may need to,” Travers acknowledged, sounding speculative.

Just a bit further and she’d be outside their wards and far enough away to Disapparate undetected.

“Are --” was the last she heard before the joke ear was out of range.

She tried to Disapparate again. Still nothing. Sighing, she trekked further, deciding to try every ten feet. She couldn’t be far now. Most wards only extended --

“Well, well, what have we here?” The deep, gravelly voice sounded joyous over his unexpected find, and had Hermione whipping around to face the final Death Eater.

Antonin Dolohov.

How could she not have noticed he wasn’t around the fire? How could she have made such a dangerous mistake?

He looked precisely as he did in her nightmares. Long, pale face, pot-marked with craggy scars as he stared fixedly at her. His features were permanently twisted into a look of undisguised loathing, and he was as burly as the Weasley twins. The sight of him not five feet away froze her in place.

Memories of facing off in the Department of Mysteries bombarded her. Pelted her with the sudden force of a summer hail storm. He’d very nearly killed her. Madam Pomfrey still wasn’t sure how she’d survived that night so long ago -- that night that was less than twenty-four hours from occurring.

“ _Confringo!_ ” he called, grinning as he tried to blast her. 

Hermione ducked, dropping to the ground as it sailed over her head to blow a tree into a million tiny pieces, and she rolled to avoid the flying debris -- splinters arrowing for her with deadly intent. She felt the sleeve of her robe catch on a root as she rolled. The loud rent of fabric tearing momentarily drowned out the noise of her rapid breathing and the staccato beat of her racing heart. Then she was on her feet and squaring off once more.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” she cried, missing his arm by less than a centimetre.

Dolohov silently fired a curse back, quick as a flick of a whip, and Hermione only barely had a chance to cry, “ _Protego!_ ”

The flash of blue light shattered her protective shield, and a thousand blades grazed her skin, tiny slashes that each welled with searing, stinging blood.

Hermione staggered, rapid blood loss leaving her light-headed and dizzy. ‘ _Incarcerous,_ ’ she silently cast, sending thick ropes winding around the Death Eater. He dodged, but they managed to catch his feet, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The sound of the other two Death Eaters racing through the trees like stampeding bulls filled the area, and horrified, Hermione realized the formerly sleeping giants were no longer snoring. The loud rumbling having stopped sometime in the last minute.

Turning on the spot, she tried to Disapparate again, and was shocked when it worked. She thought only of Grimmauld Place as her body was compressed and sucked through a narrow straw. The stoop of the familiar brick building was before her in a blink. Exhausted, every inch of her body aching, she slumped against the front door, muffling her tears.

After the war, Harry and Ron had both thrown themselves head first into fighting and tracking down all of the Death Eaters still at large. But not Hermione. She’d never wanted to participate in a duel again. Not because she couldn’t, but because she hated fighting. With every cell in her body, she detested it. She’d only ever wanted to learn because her life, and the lives of the people she cared about were constantly at risk. But that time had passed. 

Or it had.

Now she was back in the thick of things. A time when dueling, not debating was the only avenue available if she wanted to make an impact. Except she’d forgotten the toll fighting took on her in the aftermath. The plummet once the high of battle wore off. Her entire body was shaking, and she felt as though she were coming apart at the seams, literally after that curse. And being forced to confront Dolohov of all people -- a weight was pressing painfully against her chest -- right where the scar he gave her resided.

Worse, the night was only beginning. The next twenty-one hours were going to be pure and utter hell.

The trauma of the year she’d been on the run with Harry surrounded her, playing out in technicolor in her mind. The danger and fear of that time strangled her, dragging her beneath the surface of the Black Lake all over again. She was a prisoner, drowning. Drowning in a way she’d managed to prevent herself from acknowledging all these years. Maybe she had been down there this whole time without even knowing it. But now the water was finally filling her lungs.

Her head was swimming when she finally opened the door. Absently, she noted that the smears of blood she’d left on the door were hardly noticeable. They blended into the dark paint, the only sign of their existence the fact that the spots were a touch shiny and reeked of rust and salt. 

Slowly, painstakingly, Hermione made for the kitchen, hoping some of the potions she’d brewed for Hogwarts remained in the Potion Room she’d claimed for herself. She’d kept some on hand in case any of the Order members showed up in an emergency and needed them.

“Hermione!” Remus exclaimed the instant she stepped into the kitchen.

Without really noticing, she was somehow standing directly in front of him, his hands gently running over her arms, inspecting her multitude of injuries.

Hermione grabbed him without much forethought, and pulled his head down to kiss him, pouring all of her fear and relief into the kiss. Savoring the heady rush that came every single time she kissed him. 

Rightness. Whole. Safety. Love. That was what he represented to her. They were the feelings that he alone could inspire within her. The kiss contained everything that had been missing from her life for the last few months. And as she lost herself to the sensations he invoked in her, her shaking gradually subsided. 

It didn’t bother her in the least when his arms went around her, squeezing her tightly and setting the cuts about her person to throbbing mercilessly. Being back with him made it worth it. Made it easy to stuff all the unwelcome emotions back into the little cubby she kept them locked in in the back of her mind.

Teasing warmth coursed through her, followed by the brush of wind, and she absently noted with some nonessential part of her brain that Sirius had used a healing spell on her, and repaired her shredded, bloodied robes.

“I’ve been looking for you for three days,” Remus gasped into her mouth, keeping her pressed tightly to his chest.

“You have?” Hermione murmured, concentrating on breathing in the musky scent of sandalwood and chocolate that always clung to him. It was almost enough to center her after the events of the previous hour.

Almost.

“When you didn’t check in, Snape sent word to me,” Remus said gruffly, his hands running continuously over every inch of her body that he could reach. “He had a great deal to say, as a matter of fact.”

“There was nothing to report, and I didn’t want to risk being found out coming and going before it was necessary,” Hermione explained, mind already beginning to sort through the list of tasks she still needed to do before the first Ministry employees arrived in the morning. “What about the pack?”

Three days? What happened to his own assignment?

“We came to an understanding,” Remus said, a dark, deeply pained look crossing his face. She’d still, after three months, not heard anything about his time with this new pack. There’d not been an opportunity. But before she could ask now, he said, “I had no way to contact you without risk of exposing you.”

“I’ve actually been working on that, but I promise, Remus, I was fine,” Hermione said, touching his cheek, and smiling reassuringly.

“Fine?” he demanded, incredulous.

“Tonight was a fluke,” Hermione said patiently, brushing it off, even as part of her mind curled up in a dark corner, a terrified child once again.

“Hermione, you --”

“Good, you’re all still here,” Albus announced, baffling Hermione as he swept into the room, expression haggard and grim. Remus released his hold on Hermione, the headmaster’s entrance effectively drawing them apart.

“I sent word a few minutes ago,” Sirius added in explanation. Hermione had been so caught up that she hadn’t noticed.

He’d remained silent since her arrival, recognizing that she and Remus had needed the private moment earlier, but he was once more the alert soldier now. 

Hermione gave him a once over and was startled to see how much better he seemed now that he was working with the twins. She’d heard from them a few times while she’d been stationed in Hogsmeade, and they’d each said that Sirius had taken to the work with an almost zealous fervor. 

Obviously, they were right. 

He looked the healthiest she’d yet seen him. She’d thought he looked better when she’d returned in March, but the difference was even more pronounced now. And for the first time since she’d landed in the past, the kitchen didn’t have an underlying odor of firewhiskey.

If she failed, he’d die. The man before her, the one finally seeming to embrace life, would never have the opportunity to become who he had so long been denied the opportunity of becoming.

No pressure.

None.

And certainly not when her mind was already in a tailspin thanks to the unexpected events of the last hour.

“Yes, I have a report for you,” Hermione agreed, giving Dumbledore a meaningful look. He nodded, but the solemn look never faded from his face.

“What else happened?” Sirius asked, picking up on it as well. 

“Hagrid sent word,” Albus replied, addressing everyone, but looking worriedly at Sirius. “Minerva was attacked tonight, and he was forced to flee the school.”

“Tonight?” Sirius repeated, stunned. Then he was on his feet, squaring off with Albus. “Who’s watching Harry? He’s all alone! You swore they’d be there to look after him!”

“Sirius, calm yourself. The Order is not yet gone from Hogwarts,” Albus reminded him, placing a placating hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

“You mean Snape,” he gasped, disbelievingly.

“Yes, I mean Severus. You have my word that he will not let any harm come to Harry,” Albus promised, even as Sirius stared at him, jaw hanging open and concern darkening his frosty grey eyes.

Hermione glanced at Remus to find him already studying her, expression troubled. They’d recently fought about this very topic. Would he decide to trust her now? Or would the past continue to hold sway over him? He had just warned him that Hermione might be in danger. How far would the go to earn him some favor? She waited, and was relieved when he didn’t jump in with Sirius to insist Harry wasn’t safe with Severus. But he didn’t look happy either. Far from it.

She only half listened as Sirius and Albus continued to debate the issue, pointing out how close the school year was to being over, that Moody was close by in Hogsmeade, and Sirius revealing that Severus had stopped giving Harry Occlumency lessons. Albus appeared to have lost interest in what Sirius was saying after that, too focused on the new repercussions of that knowledge. Hermione noted the way his eyes briefly flicked to her in silent question, the action going undetected by the other occupants of the room.

Mostly, she was absorbed with reliving the past hour when she’d been caught unaware by Dolohov. She really should have listened when Molly suggested she try therapy after seeing how well it worked for George. There was so much she’d suppressed, and never truly processed from what happened during the war.

She tuned in just in time to hear Albus say, “Enough, Sirius. As I have already stated, Alastor is on-hand should he be needed. Now, I believe you have new information for us, Hermione?” 

“Oh, uh, yes, I do. The Death Eaters have gathered with eight giants near Tutshill. They are aware we know, and… and their first strike will take place in less than two weeks.”

“Then we have time,” Albus said, sighing. In relief or concern, Hermione couldn’t tell. “I need to see about having Minerva moved to St. Mungo’s tonight. That is the most pressing matter.`”

Hermione started after him when he made to leave, unintentionally ignoring Remus when he went to take her hand. “Sir?” Hermione said quietly, not wishing to wake Mrs. Black’s portrait or be overheard. “Susan and her parents weren’t there when Madam Bones was attacked. I think someone intervened to save them,” Hermione said meaningfully. 

She’d been considering it all week. The attack happened at night, after school had let out for the summer. Susan’s family, living in the house next door to Amelia Bones, had no reason to be out on that specific night -- not when everyone was aware Voldemort had returned by then, and were staying locked in their homes out of fear.

“You’re certain?”

“Nearly… as much as I can be,” Hermione acknowledged. “I think I was always here.”

“I’ve been wondering about that myself. Everything adds up to that being the case. We should discuss this more later this week. I really must see about Minerva now, then check in with Alastor,” Albus said, already distracted with his todo list as he left. She could easily relate.

“Hermione --”

“Remus!” Hermione cried, jumping like a frightened cat at the sound of her name. The look on his face made her feel unaccountably guilty. He’d not meant to sneak up on her, and it wasn’t his fault she was so jumpy just then. “Sorry… I-I have to go,” she said apologetically.

“What? No! We need to talk about earlier,” Remus insisted. “Among other things.”

The grandfather clock chimed twice. Loud, echoing clanges. Two. It was already two in the morning. Albus and Sirius had been at it for much longer than she’d realized when she zoned out earlier. And now she was running out of time. What she wouldn’t give for a time-turner right then!

“Tomorrow. I promise, Remus,” Hermione vowed, striding out the front door in Albus’s wake, quickly Disapparating. 

She’d have a few hours once everything was in place to go over what had been going on with each of them lately as well as the painful conversations about what she knew that he didn’t seem to want to know about -- including Teddy and Sirius. Assuming, of course, that he would hear her out this time. Maybe it was better if he didn’t? She honestly couldn’t tell anymore. 

Therapy. When this was over she was taking Molly’s advice so she could reach the state George eventually did. She just needed to make --

Hermione blinked when she looked up and saw the lights still on in the twins’ flat. She’d not expected them to still be awake at this hour. She drew her cloak tighter about her as she walked to the side entrance of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, intending to check that the upstairs apartment was ready to go for the next night. If she pulled everything off, they’d have to move fast to get Sirius out of the Ministry without either of them being seen after the Death Eaters were arrested and before the Unspeakables and officials came down to investigate the Death Room. 

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Hermione muttered, using the passphrase to unlock the side door leading to the back staircase. Only the family and close friends had it.

She tried the door to the third floor, only to discover additional wards had been set since she’d last dropped in. Apparently, another passphrase was required, and she didn’t know what it was. With a sigh, she headed down to ask one of the twins to open it for her, or at least dismantle it long enough for her to move Sirius the following night -- again assuming she succeeded. At least she wouldn’t have to wake them.

The light was coming from the kitchen when she entered, so she headed that way, calling, “George? Fred? I need you guys to let --”

The sight of George’s glowingly, brilliantly white bum greeted her. As did Tonks’s long, slender leg wrapped firmly around the waist of the owner of said bum while he set about gyrating his hips against hers where she was seated on his kitchen counter.

Tonks’s arms were wrapped tightly around George’s broad shoulders, her nails digging in to brace herself as she met each rough snap of his hips. Parallel red lines scored his exposed back, evidence of her impassioned response to their coupling. A quiet, yet throaty whimper sounded from George, and Hermione could see Tonks’s head buried in the crook of his neck where she’d likely just nipped him.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, spinning around. 

“Shite!” George cursed, and Hermione could hear them rustling about, detangling themselves as she headed into the living room, her face heated as all the remaining blood in her body raced towards her cheeks. “Bollocks, Hermione! What do you mean showing up unannounced at this hour?”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” Hermione moaned, mortified to have just walked in on the pair in such an intimate embrace -- even if it had been in the kitchen. The kitchen of the flat he shared with his twin! Where was Fred during all of this?

Why had she even come here now? She’d meant to go straight to the Ministry then come here after -- in the morning just before the twins opened the shop. She must have been far more rattled by the duel with Dolohov than she’d first suspected. Must be because she’d been thinking about therapy working for George and how screwed up the war had left her. The fight that evening was messing with her head and her carefully calculated plan. 

Any more mistakes like this one, and she might as well give up now. This was the sort of thing that caused carefully crafted plans to go awry. The very thing that got people killed. Something Hermione couldn’t afford to let happen.

“It’s fine. We just weren’t expecting you,” George said good-naturedly, sounding like he’d found an absurd amount of unwarranted humor in the situation now that he’d had a second to process it.

“Why are you here?” Tonks asked, followed almost immediately by, “Have you seen my shirt anywhere?”

“Got it,” George said. More rustling sounded, then the two entered the room, George still buttoning his trousers. 

Tonks’s short mop of purple locks were sticking up every which way, and the color clashed horribly with the crimson staining her cheeks. But her blush had nothing on George’s. His freckles had faded, swallowed up by his ruddy flush, and the devious smirk stretching across his face. He was utterly incorrigible!

“Minerva was attacked tonight,” Hermione explained when she saw they were still waiting to learn why she’d come to see them, “and Umbridge chased Hagrid out too.” She’d decided it was too risky to tell Tonks about her plan since Tonks would be fighting at the Ministry. Only George could know the real reason for her visit. Part of it anyways. Less chance of unaccounted for variables. 

Tonks looked outraged. Immediately, she began a tirade. “She didn’t! Oh, that foul --”

“I, uh, I guess I just wanted to make sure you were informed right away.”

“She’s going to be all right, yeah?” George asked, the genuine concern for his former head of house made Hermione smile reassuringly at him.

“Of course she is,” Hermione promised.

“Then why --”

““You should probably check in with Mad-Eye,” Hermione suggested, cutting Tonks’s question off.

“Oh! Yeah, you’re right,” Tonks agreed, grabbing George’s shirt to haul him close for a disturbingly wet and heated kiss before she was off with a grin, and a slight bounce in her step.

George stared dreamily after her, clearly smitten with the older witch.

“The pair of you then…”

“Yeah. For a few weeks now,” George admitted, bemused. He ran a hand over the back of his head then shook it a little. 

So they really were a couple now. As soon as Sirius was safe, she was going to have to figure out what to do about Teddy, because this was a serious complication that she’d not really anticipated. She’d honestly figured George didn’t stand a chance with Tonks -- even if they really did seem perfect for one another.

“I just wanted to check that the upstairs apartment is ready to go,” Hermione said absently, still caught up in her racing thoughts. “Can you take down the new wards you set? I’ll need to be able to get in on a moment’s notice.”

“We’ll be needing it soon then?”

“If all goes well,” she muttered, terrified of what failure would mean. She’d truly come to care about Sirius. So much so, that losing him would devastate her in a way that it hadn’t the first time.

“What is it, Hermione?” George asked, picking up on her mood.

She shook her head, unable to express her fears and doubts. Instead, she quietly said, “I best be going. I have a few other things to do tonight, still.”

“It’s almost three in the morning!” George called, but she just waved him off, still furious with herself for losing her head and doing things out of order. There wasn’t room -- not to mention time -- for mistakes.

Not if her careful planning was to succeed.

~

Ministry

The sleek marbles floors of the Ministry Atrium hadn’t changed a bit. It was like coming home, only all wrong. She’d spent so much time there over the years. Only the obscene fountain, filling the cavernous space with the sound of trickling water, with its misrepresentation of magical creatures and their roles in society was different from her time. The line of Floos set into the wall were all cold and dark at this hour. Even the most diligent and ambitious wasn’t yet awake and headed into work. She should have at least an hour or two before she needed to worry about being interrupted.

Silently, she made her way to the lifts, passing the drowsy night security guard unnoticed, and pressing the button for Level Nine with her disillusioned hand. The cool voice announcing each floor filled the small, enclosed space, but Hermione could barely hear it over the throbbing in her ears. Her head felt as though it were muffled, buried in a snowbank.

Exiting the lift, Hermione proceeded down the hall, her head swiveling like a bobble head doll as she searched out intruders and potential dangers. Mad-Eye’s paranoia seemed to be catching, and she was definitely infected.

“Kingsley,” Hermione whispered as she approached, knowing he was hidden beneath Mad-Eye’s spare invisibility cloak. “I need in there,” she said quietly. 

With a final glance around, she removed the Disillusionment Charm to reveal herself to him and gestured at the door he was guarding. Thank Merlin Albus had agreed to let her draw up the schedule for guard duty a few months ago. She’d deliberately scheduled Kingsley tonight and Tonks the next night.

“Are you really you?” Kingsley asked suspiciously, not removing his cloak. She smiled at the question.

“I’m not under the Imperius Curse if that’s what you’re implying,” Hermione said drolly, holding her wandless hands out to show she wasn’t a threat.

She waited as he cast a series of spells over her, using his Auror training to ensure she wasn’t an impostor or acting under the coercive influence of a spell.

“You can’t touch it,” he warned, lowering his hood to level her with a troubled frown. He didn’t ask for an explanation for her presence, which she was grateful for, but his worry was plain to see. A sign in neon lights would hardly make a stronger declaration.

“I have no intention of going near the prophecy,” Hermione vowed emphatically. “I already know what it says, and have no need of it.”

“Be careful. Many dangerous things are kept behind these doors,” Kingsley advised, stepping aside to let her enter.

“Trust me, I know,” she muttered, letting the door fall shut behind her and watching as the dark room spun.


	16. 16: Miscommunications and Time… It’s Really All About Time Now, and a Good Dose of Luck

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

Any dialogue you recognize is from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix._

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 16: Miscommunications and Time… It’s Really All About Time Now, and a Good Dose of Luck

June 1996

Grimmauld Place

She entered Grimmauld Place just under two hours later, relieved that it hadn’t taken as long as she’d feared it would. The Death Room had been the fourth door she tried, and thanks to her advanced preparations, it’d not taken long to do all she’d needed to accomplish.

The eerie silence of the room had unsettled her. She’d been prepared for the whispers. But it was quiet as a tomb. Not even a breeze stirred the tattered curtain the entire time she’d stood before the stone arch.

It made sense. At this point in time, she’d not lost anyone. There was no one waiting for her just out of reach, hiding behind the ragged cloth as they waited for her to join them. If only it could always remain that way.

Guess tonight would put it to the test. 

She’d quickly realized the arch opened from either side and she hadn’t been around to know which side Sirius fell through. She’d have to take a chance, and hope that she selected the correct side. The odds were fifty/fifty. She didn’t like them, but it was all she had, because there was only one invisibility cloak. The other had been confiscated months ago when Podmore was arrested. It wasn't an issue she'd anticipated, and now there was no time to remedy it. 

She'd just have to make due.

In the end, she’d decided not to leave things set up. It was too big a risk that an Unspeakable might discover her setup while at work that day. Then she’d have no chance to save Sirius. 

Instead, she’d practiced to make sure her plan would work, her actions seamless enough to appear as nothing more than a flutter of the veil, and that she could get everything done in a timely manner. She was positive that she could do it if she picked the correct side. 

If she didn't -- well, she couldn’t think about that just now.

Then she’d --

“Where were you? Where have you been?” Remus demanded. “I’ve been waiting up for you to return all night!”

Startled, Hermione glanced up and blinked. “Hmm?” she hummed, her surroundings coming into focus. 

She’d made her way to the library on autopilot. Lack of sleep, compounded by her worries, recent blood loss, and aches -- her body seriously felt like one giant bruise despite the healing spell Sirius had used on her -- all combined to make her head a bit fuzzy.

“You left just after Albus,” Remus reminded her briskly, his face a blank canvas as he stared at her. “After you showed up looking like you’d been in a knife fight with a Kappa, I might add.” 

Hermione took a deep breath. Here was the moment of truth. She wanted to be upfront with him about everything. Even if it did terrify her that doing so might change some critical event. He deserved to be her partner in this. Deserved for her to be honest with him. That was the type of relationship she wanted with him. One where they were equals.

“Oh, er -- I went to see George first,” she explained awkwardly, flushing enough that she could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she recalled precisely how much of George she had seen -- Tonks too, for that matter.

“In the middle of the night?” Remus asked. The question was raw, containing a peculiar note that Hermione couldn't quite decipher.

“Yes,” she said slowly, tentatively. All the while scanning his face, trying to get a read on him. Their last few conversations had run so hot and cold. It left her on uneven footing now.

“And what about that could possibly have you looking so alarmed now?” he asked harshly, clenching his jaw so hard a muscle ticked visibly along the sharp edge.

“It’s nothing,” she said, laughing lightly in relief. She relaxed, realizing he’d noticed her earlier blush and misread the situation. 

“It’s not nothing!” he yelled, turning his back on her as he stalked to the fireplace.

“Remus…” Hermione breathed, trailing off as the reality of her mistake set in. He was genuinely concerned, and she’d laughed when she should have taken it seriously. Swallowing, she braced herself. All this miscommunication. They were making incorrect assumptions, when what they really needed was to sit down and have it out. “We need to talk about the things I know. The future.”

“Don’t change the subject. What happened tonight with George?” he asked, bracing his hands on the mantle, and letting his head fall forward.

Annoyed that he wouldn’t let it go after she’d already said it was nothing, she huffed, confessing, “I walked in on George and Tonks having sex. I can’t shake the image, all right?”

Turning his head, so that she could see his face in profile, he asked, “What is your preoccupation with them? You don’t have feelings --”

“What? George?” she gasped, aghast that he’d even suggest such a thing. Surely he knew how much she loved him. _Him_ , not _George Weasley_.

She was abruptly angry. “This is the third time you’ve implied something about me and another bloke. I’m getting a bit sick of you acting like I’d run around on you.”

He’d jokingly asked about her and Harry back on Valentine’s Day, but now she wondered if he’d been more serious about it than she realized. Plus there was the bit about Severus. And now this with George!

She’d never given him a reason to doubt her, so why was he?

“That wasn’t really an answer. Is something going on between you and George?”

“No!” she said fiercely, glaring at him.

“Then why are you so focused on them being together?” Remus asked insistently.

“Because Tonks is the mother of your child!” Hermione yelled, throwing her hands up in the air.

Remus turned and walked out of the room without another word. Not even a strained goodbye like he’d done at the Hog’s Head. 

“Remus! Remus, wait!” Hermione begged, chasing after him. Echos of a long ago scene following on her heels. He didn’t stop, and she heard the distinctive sound of a person Disapparating before she reached the open front door.

At least this time it wasn’t raining.

“Tonks. My little cousin?” Sirius asked, staring at her wide-eyed. He was as bad as the twins with his listening in at closed doors. No wonder they got on so well. Of course, she’d not exactly tried to keep her voice down.

“Yes,” Hermione said, blinking tears out of her eyes. This situation was both familiar and vastly different from what happened with Ron during their hunt for Horcruxes.

“It won’t happen,” Sirius predicted, brow wrinkling as he studied her. “He thinks she’s practically still a child.”

“Well, she’s not, but that hardly matters right now. Ugh! This was the last thing I needed today,” she said, closing her eyes to block out the phantom sight of Remus’s retreating back. 

Why couldn’t they just manage to sit down and communicate the way they used to? It was so easy before, when she first arrived and even their first six months together. It was just the last three that it always seemed to go sideways.

Part of her knew he’d only left to keep from saying something he’d regret. The full moon was in two days, and after being with the pack so much recently, his temper was so much tissue paper. She’d always known being a werewolf meant Remus would be predisposed to a volatile temper, subject to the phases of the moon -- at its mercy if you will -- she’d not walked into this relationship blindly. That didn’t make it hurt less. Particularly when the events of the night before left her feeling decidedly vulnerable.

“He’ll come back,” Sirius promised, wrapping her in a hug. Her eyes popped open at the unexpected contact, but she let herself slump against him, accepting the strength and comfort he was offering. “He just needs to cool off and think it over a bit.”

“Ron left me too. Right when I needed him the most,” Hermione admitted, her mind still snagged on that detail. Maybe it was her. She drove them away. 

“Remus is still the better man, and he loves you with his entire being,” Sirius said softly, understanding thick in his voice. Hermione was glad that it was him with her. He really could relate better than anyone else given his history and his knowledge of Remus.

“Yes,” she agreed.

~

A quick nap, a solid meal, a few healing potions, and Hermione felt significantly better physically. Mentally and emotionally was a whole different story. She was jumpy and irritable. Visions of everything that could go wrong, going wrong played out in her mind on a constant loop.

Hermione was washing her dishes in the sink after lunch when Kreacher ambled in, shuffling his feet and muttering under his breath as loudly as usual about filth like her trespassing in his Mistress’s ancestral home.

“Kreacher? May I have a word with you?” Hermione asked kindly, watching his progress across the room. He still tried to avoid looking at her whenever possible. “Please.”

“Why does it always try to talk to Kreacher?” he moaned, tugging on his ear, his nails getting tangled up in the knotted grey hair sticking out of his ears. “Why must Kreacher put up with it? Maybe if Krecher ignores the vile, dirty Mudblood, it will leave forever.”

“Kreacher, we’re all going out. Can you stay here in the kitchen, and let anyone know that asks?” Hermione requested, figuring she’d go ahead and help tonight along. Better it happen the way she remembered since her morning plan to share everything with Remus didn’t go as intended.

“Leaving. Master is leaving?” Kreacher asked, sounding almost maniacal as he cautiously dared to hope she meant what she said. “Kreacher must tell his Mistress the good news,” he said, standing straighter and bringing his hands together as though he were praying.

“You’ll never have to see him again if you do this,” Hermione informed him gently. Kreacher would be dead of old age before Sirius and Harry were reunited -- so long as she succeeded tonight. Either way, it was the truth. Kreacher nodded as she added, “But you have to stay in here for the rest of the day, and remember to tell anyone that asks that we’ve gone. I’m sure the Mistresses Black will be thrilled with you as well for doing this.”

~

An hour after lunch, and Remus still hadn’t returned. Hermione began to worry, not about them, but that he wouldn’t be around when it was time for them to go to the Ministry later when Harry was in trouble. They’d need his help then, and she’d wanted him to have this last bit of time with Sirius in case she failed. 

“Where do you think he’s gone?” she asked, averting her eyes. She’d been unintentionally staring at Sirius on and off all day.

“I’m not sure. You weren’t exactly gentle when breaking the news earlier,” Sirius said frankly, offering an unfazed shrug when her dagger-sharp glare was aimed in his direction.

“What else was I supposed to do? He keeps refusing to discuss it!” she said defensively.

“To protect you,” Sirius stated, a quiet fierceness underlying his words.

Hermione was thrown, her footing failing like she’d been braced on so much shifting sand. “What are you talking about?”

“He heard you and Snape arguing about the future and what you’re risking. He knows if you mess with time and your past too much, or even say more than strictly necessary -- you could talk yourself out of existence,” Sirius confessed, letting her in on a secret that explained so very much.

All the times she’d tried to talk to him about Teddy, and he’d put her off. Or when she’d mentioned intervening, and he’d asked if perhaps it might not be better just to preserve the future she knew, even if it meant losing loved ones all over again. He was willing to make those sacrifices if it meant protecting her.

Foolish, loving man. He should have just told her!

“He’s afraid,” Hermione stated, voicing the summation of her conclusion aloud.

“Of course he is,” Sirius huffed. “You’re everything to him -- the most important aspect of his life.”

“This whole time… That’s what it’s been about?” she asked, thinking she was still missing something.

“Well, that and this new pack… It wasn’t pretty,” Sirius admitted, letting her know that Remus had at least been visiting Grimmauld Place even if he hadn’t come to her in Hogsmeade.

“What happened?” she demanded quietly, though no less insistently.

“He wouldn’t say. That’s how I know it was really bad,” Sirius sighed, letting his head fall against the back of the chair, concern for his friend marked in every tense line of his body. “But I imagine it was more of the same old story. They were the very worst of the stereotypes of his kind. It was bound to make all those old feelings and doubts resurface. Make him question how you could ever possibly care about him or see him as more than a monster. The same monster you once… well yeah.”

Hermione realized he was referring to the end of her third year in the Shrieking Shack. She’d basically called Remus an untrustworthy monster that night. Did he still think of that? Sirius obviously did.

“And I haven’t been here for him,” Hermione said dully, mentally chastising herself for all of it.

“Don’t do that. It’s not like you had much of a choice or even the chance to,” Sirius said sharply, pulling her abruptly from her mental flagellation. “We’re at war. We all have a job to do, and he knows that. Don’t beat yourself up over this. This insecurity is on him,” he insisted sternly. 

“When did you get so wise?” Hermione mused, smiling despite the tough conversation they were having.

“You threw me a rope when I was drowning—twice. I’m just returning the favor,” Sirius said sincerely, gratitude shining out at her. She smiled at the reference to Buckbeak in her third year, that time seemed to be on his mind quite a bit today. 

Merlin, if he died that evening, this would be their last conversation. She _had_ to succeed. _She had to!_

“Think it’s safe to send him a Patronus?” she asked suddenly, needing to make sure Remus returned before things went down. His absence would shift everything.

They’d not used Patronuses to send messages because the message was delivered when it reached the intended recipient. That didn’t take into account who was nearby listening in. When Remus was with the pack, he couldn’t be seen as overtly supporting Dumbledore. His influence over the other members required far more subtlety. And she couldn’t receive them when she’d been trailing Death Eaters and giants in case it drew unwanted attention that put her in danger.

“He’s not with the packs, so it should be,” Sirius said, nodding encouragingly.

She sent a simple message asking him to return to Grimmauld Place, and watched as her otter swam away, zipping through the air.

Afterwards, she took the opportunity to share all the stories she could remember about Harry from her first five years at Hogwarts. Including all of the memories he’d not been in the right head space to watch right after Christmas. Sirius listened avidly, begging for her to elaborate here or there and laughing more than she’d ever heard him laugh before.

All the while, Hermione watched the clock ticking down the minutes.

“Tonks.” The name seemed to tumble out, a sock falling out of an overstuffed dryer suddenly opened after tumbling round and round inside for hours.

“Yes,” Hermione acknowledged, hesitant to see where he was going to direct their conversation next. She should have already left by now, but she really wanted to see Remus first. If only for a moment.

“I don’t get it,” Sirius said frankly, creases carving deep grooves all along his forehead. “You told me he got involved with someone, and I figured it was just sex, but I didn’t think it would be with her.”

Phineas glared at her from the edge of the frame over the mantle. Hermione blinked, startled when the sight of him snared her attention. Probably, he was annoyed because he couldn’t go running to Dumbledore spilling all the juicy tidbits he’d learned that day now that the headmaster no longer resided in the castle. He’d gone to Dumbledore on her a few times this year, she was sure. No one else had the means to keep the headmaster so well informed as to what she was doing shut up in Grimmauld Place all these months.

“It sort of threw everyone when it happened, but she pursued him and eventually, he gave in,” Hermione explained succinctly, not particularly wishing to think about it more than necessary. The whole topic refused to sit well with her. Hadn’t since she’d fallen in love with the man in question. 

“Understandable. I guess,” he muttered, but doubt still colored his words bright as a sunny shade of yellow. “Bet you’re really wishing artificial insemination worked right about now.”

“But as we’ve already discussed, it’s not an option,” she reminded him crisply, pursing her lips.

A clang sounded below, and Hermione’s gaze shot to the doorway, hope filling her that Remus was back. Another clang, and Hermione placed the noises as Kreacher messing about in the kitchen. Ten more minutes. That was as far as she could push it or there’d be no way to get where she needed to be, when she needed to be there.

“You have to tell her,” Sirius said quietly, though with the thread of an order underlying his directive. “This is too big for him to be allowed to make the decision on his own.”

“It takes two to tango, and all that?” Hermione asked ruefully, not wanting to think about that part in particular. The image of Tonks having sex with George was still branded on the back of her eyelids. It was too easy to substitute one man for another, and it suddenly became all too real.

“Precisely. I’m serious, Hermione, you have to tell her -- as soon as possible,” Sirius insisted, the urgency in his voice getting to her even if she didn’t quite know why.

“Yeah, all right, Sirius,” Hermione promised. Her head was beginning to ache, and she felt tears burning her eyes as she looked at him. Would he be around to meet Teddy this time?

“What do you actually know about them from when it happened the first time?” Sirius inquired, faux casually.

“Sirius, I’m sorry, but I’m not really up for discussing this right now,” Hermione sighed, offering him an apologetic wince. 

He nodded, accepting her decision. As far as he knew, they had plenty of time to discuss it later. Hermione swallowed the heavy thought back, shoving it down to the darkest depths of her psyche where it belonged. 

“Where is he?” she groaned, growing more impatient by the second.

“This is about more than your fight with Remus,” Sirius said, suddenly seeing things clearly.

“I should already be gone by now, but I really wanted to explain before… Well, I just wanted to explain,” Hermione said weakly.

“I think that might make things worse,” Sirius warned, shaking his head in protest of the idea.

“Because he’s afraid for me,” Hermione said, recalling what he’d told her earlier.

“Yeah,” Sirius said pointedly, but his lips pressed together before he added, “and you might try asking Snivellus what exactly he said to Remus.” His expression spoke volumes, conveying every bit of his ongoing hatred for the other man.

Two more minutes. Then she absolutely had to go. 

Hermione couldn’t even imagine what Severus had said to Remus. The possibilities were literally endless. And none of them painted a positive image in her mind.

She stood up, preparing to ask Sirius to get Remus there, but the man in question entered the very moment she made the decision.

“You’re back,” Hermione breathed, scanning him. He looked exhausted, but his eyes softened the slightest bit when he saw her. 

“You asked me to come,” he stated simply. “And I promised to always come back to you.” 

She glanced at Sirius, wondering how to say what she’d wanted to earlier while he listened in. He shot her a look, reminding her not to say too much. Finally, she settled for saying, “Listen, I need you to trust me.”

Harry had already had his vision at this point. The exam let out six minutes ago. Hermione was behind schedule. 

“Because you’ve been so upfront and honest with me?” Remus asked, obviously pained. It tore at her heart to see it. And from the corner of her eye, she caught Sirius’s startled expression. It mimicked what she was feeling. Remus hadn’t wanted to know anything before.

“You know I can’t tell you everything. You’ve anyways understood that -- you wanted it that way,” Hermione reminded him, wishing it weren’t the truth.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I think it’s time we have this bit about Teddy out,” Remus said, finally willing to confront the issue that had been a passenger in their relationship from the beginning. At the worst possible moment.

“I promise we will, but not today,” Hermione said quickly, glancing at the clock. Right at that moment, she was with Harry finalizing plans to break into Umbridge’s office. “I haven’t the time to properly explain. You’ll understand --”

“Now, Hermione. You asked me to come here,” Remus insisted firmly.

“Well, yes, I did -- but not for this!” 

“You’re making no sense. Why didn’t you tell me sooner about Nymphadora?” he asked, voice raw with emotion.

“You want to do this now? But I can’t...” she wailed miserably. It was already going on five and she had to get going. Harry would have already retrieved his invisibility cloak.

“You have somewhere more important to be?”

“As a matter of fact... “ she muttered darkly, unable to stop herself from glancing at Sirius. Only the knowledge that he’d be grateful to her later sustained her. Assuming her insane plan worked, of course.

“Then by all means, don’t let me keep you,” Remus said, stepping aside and gesturing to the door. His dismissal stung, but she wasn’t surprised. Neither of them was handling this very well. “Well? Go on,” he prompted when she just stood there, staring at him.

“Seriously? I don’t want to leave things like this, but I really can’t do this right now!” she moaned in a rush, willing him to understand and cut her some slack.

“There’s the door,” he stated, moving to take the seat she’d recently vacated.

“I’ll stay with him,” Sirius promised, nodding and waving her out. 

He had the look about him that she and Ron used to wear when managing Harry’s temper back in fifth year. The look of a friend long used to dealing with the rare times their best mate’s undesirable aspects made an appearance because the rest of the time more than made up for it.

~

Hogwarts

Hermione made her way down the path to the Forbidden Forest, running full out. Her side ached, a stitch forming thanks to the unfamiliar strain she was putting her heaving chest and weak muscles through. She really needed to start exercising more. 

She checked her watch at the treeline, taking advantage of the daylight before the shadowy canopy of the dense trees blocked all incoming rays. Harry would have already contacted Sirius and spoken to Kreacher by now. She assumed the man in question was still upstairs with Remus, and that’s why he’d missed Harry’s Floo call. If not for her… yet more evidence that she’d always been around. It was certainly piling up. 

She’d Disillusioned herself before ever Apparating to Hogsmeade, but making her way through the forest was even more difficult when she couldn’t see where she was planting her feet. A drumbeat sounded in her ears, steadily growing louder with every staccato beat of her heart. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. 

It was slow going, and she navigated the thick foliage, doing her best to steer clear of where Aragog’s descendants resided and any centaurs were roaming. 

She still couldn’t believe how insensitive she’d been to them this day so long ago. Always, she’d tried to be respectful and advocate for their rights. It had taken her a long time to figure out that some of her actions didn’t necessarily translate well, despite her good intentions. Her house-elf hats were a prime example. They didn’t want to be set free -- not like that. They were too conditioned to see freedom as a bad thing -- a punishment. It needed to be a process, with steps and assurances built in. Yet even when people told her, she hadn’t wanted to hear. Always, she wished for immediate results, unwilling to prolong another’s suffering for a moment longer than necessary. Patience had never been one of her defining qualities.

The sound of trees breaking, a steady, repeated snapping wove through the forest before she saw his massive form. Hermione paused, her recent encounter with giants making her hands shake as she lifted her wand. 

“ _Lumos_ ,” she whispered, checking her watch. Perfect. Umbridge, Harry, and her younger self had just begun the trek outside. 

Peaking around the large tree she’d ducked behind, showed Grawp sitting in a larger clearing than he’d been in before. The increased size of the area and the source of the snapping was clear from the ten foot high pile of tree branches and splintered trunks discarded about his feet.

One of the ropes binding Grawp was only six feet away. Carefully stepping over branches so as not to make any noise and draw attention to herself, Hermione made her way to it. The rope had a diameter of at least a foot thick, and it hummed with magic. 

“ _Finite Incantatem,_ ” she whispered, nullifying the magic on the rope. Hagrid must have used his umbrella to reinforce its strength before he left. There was no way Grawp pulled himself free just in time to save her and Harry. The unhappy, and lonely giant would have been long gone by now if he could free himself.

“ _Diffindo_ ,” she muttered. Nothing. The rope held firm. 

“ _Relashio_ ,” she tried as well. Then again. And again. And a fourth time before the rope fully severed.

Another five minutes were spent skirting around the edge of the clearing to the other rope restraining Hagrid’s baby brother. _What had he been thinking to bring a giant to a school filled with children?_

But that was the problem with Hagrid. He never thought about the consequences. And he never saw things clearly. He meant well, yes, but he was just so reckless and misguided! Refusing at every turn to acknowledge the true nature of magical creatures, or the dangers he thoughtlessly brought to their doorstep.

The second rope only took two Revulsion Jinxes and one Severing Charms to slice through, because after the third, Grawp noticed the lack of tension, and curious, decided to pull hard enough to tear the remaining, fraying fibers clean through. 

Hermione stumbled back, crouching low as she screamed, “Harry and Hermy are in trouble. Hagrid wants you to help them!”

Grawp turned in a circle, looking for the source of the voice, as the dangling ropes swung wildly about, whipping into the remaining trees he’d not yet destroyed. Hermione stayed where she was, curled up into a small ball between the gnarled roots of a tree, afraid to move and draw attention to herself. 

All the while she felt the way her body trembled, completely terrified. This was not the Grawp she’d come to know. He was still feral and unaware of his own strength at this point. So very similar to the giants she’d recently been watching the last few weeks. They’d displayed a brutality she’d never dared imagine. Reading and seeing were far different beasts.

“Hagger?” Grawp asked, his face scrunching in confusion.

“Yes, Grawp, Hagrid!” Hermione dared to scream again, scooting deeper into the roots to avoid detection.

“Where Hagger?” Grawp demanded.

Shakily, Hermione inhaled, bracing herself, she yelled, “He needs you to help his friends!”

“HAGGER!” Grawp cried, seeming to only understand that he missed his brother and wanted him. He went bounding off, long strides propelling him forward. No obstacle in his path stood a chance. Grawp just plowed straight through it. 

Well, that was better than nothing. Hopefully, it would still play out as she remembered.

Hermione scrambled off in the opposite direction. She needed to get to the Ministry before the others, but she still couldn’t risk running afoul of the centaurs or other creatures lurking in the Forbidden Forest.

In far less time than she expected, she was at the edge of the woods, arriving just in time to witness six thestrals taking off. Their leathery, dark wings flapping slow and hard to move them rapidly through the air, and their tails trailing out behind them, caught in the wind. How on earth did they get ahead of her? Bloody hell!

At least Apparating was faster than flying. She still had a chance.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement. Turning, she saw Severus staring at the same sight she’d just been watching. A look of unmitigated horror screwed the lines of his face. A quick look to ensure no one was around, and Hermione removed her Disillusionment Charm.

“Severus!” she called, snagging his attention.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, looking around then back at the sky, but the thestrals and their riders had already shrunk from sight. “Where have --”

“They’ve gone to the Ministry,” she explained quickly, noting the way the color drained from his face as she spoke. “Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and myself,” she clarified.

“ _All of them_ have gone?” he emphasized, seeming unable to believe they’d do something so dangerous -- and under his watch.

“Yes, we have to hurry,” she insisted, beginning to rush back towards the castle, only to have Severus grab her arm and pull her up short. 

He gave her a sharply reprimanding look, and knocked her on the head with his wand. Immediately, the sensation of cold water began trickling over her. Disillusionment Charm. Oh. Right. The annoyance in the look he was giving the spot he’d just seen her in said he was seconds away from strangling her for being every bit as foolish as he found her younger self to be just then.

Once the charm was in place, they rushed back towards the castle, nearly sprinting as they huffed out a rapid conversation.

“What were you thinking?” Severus demanded, darting a quick look at the sky again.

“That Voldemort had Sirius, and we couldn’t let Harry go after him alone,” Hermione said defensively. They’d been so gullible, but Harry was so certain, and his conviction was catching. And better they be there to watch his back. “You know how Harry gets once he’s got an idea into his head.”

“You did not trust me to check?” he asked, clearly hurt. Sirius’s words were still ringing through her head. _And you might try asking Snivellus what exactly he said to Remus._ It was a pointed reminder that none of them were exactly levelheaded about the others. There was a reason they’d all been so willing to believe he wouldn’t. “I just spoke with Black not five minutes ago after that scene in Umbridge’s office,” he announced. “It was the reason I was detained and could not stop them from leaving.”

“Harry assumed you’d let Sirius die just to spite him,” Hermione admitted, wheezing and gulping air into her starving lungs as they continued.

“I --”

“You can’t deny he has every reason to believe that,” Hermione accused, but without any heat behind the statement.

“Do you?” he asked quietly, slowing his pace as he waited for her response. His head was bent, watching his feet, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t have looked at her even if she weren’t Disillusioned.

“No, Severus. I know what an honorable, decent man you are,” she promised, the main path to the castle finally coming into view, but they were much closer to the gate that she’d be using than they were the front doors. “And that it was necessary for you to protect your cover.”

“This is my fault for not continuing the Occlumency lessons,” he wheezed guiltily.

“No. It would have happened regardless,” Hermione stated, certain Voldemort would have found some way to manipulate Harry eventually. Especially once he learned the Order knew of his giants.

“Umbridge --”

“Is detained for now,” she assured him, pausing at the fork in the path. He would go right, back to the castle, while she’d take the one on the left, heading back to the main gate where she would be free to Disapparate. “Albus will have to fetch her later -- unfortunately.” 

If only he’d just leave her to the fate she’d more than earned. At least she’d get hers in the end -- Hermione had personally made sure of it.

“What did you say to Remus?” she asked, the question slipping out despite the inappropriate timing. His flush from their exertion deepened noticeably. “ _Severus_ ,” she demanded, suddenly alarmed. How much of the disaster that had been her last few interactions with Remus had been because of the man beside her? 

“I didn’t care for the way he was treating you,” Severus said evasively.

“That’s not an answer,” she pointed out sternly, unintentionally echoing Remus’s earlier words to her regarding George.

“He needed to be made aware of a few things,” he hedged, a flash of regret crossing his face like so many storm clouds on a sunny, summer day.

“I never asked you to defend me!” Hermione shouted, hotly.

He remained silent, but a slightly vicious smirk curled his lips before he could conceal it.

“Argh!” she growled, furious that she didn’t have time to get to the bottom of things just then. “We’ll discuss this later,” she promised, though it was more of a threat. Severus merely shrugged, but the reference to time seemed to snap him back to attention as well.

“I’ll sound the alarm,” he announced, and she turned to go. “Hermione! Whatever you have planned, be careful -- _and don’t be seen_ ,” he called, making her glance back at him. He really was worried about her.

“I will. I know,” she vowed, running for the gate.

~

Ministry

The foyer of the Ministry looked precisely as it had when she’d arrived that morning. Empty Floos. Splashing golden fountain. Swirling gold symbols on the high ceiling. Dim lighting. Absolutely nothing suggested the coming pandemonium. Except the absence of a security guard. The Death Eaters must have already disposed of him. Hermione hoped he wasn’t an unwitting casualty that she’d not known about. 

Tonks was at the door, just as Hermione had known she would be.

“Tonks,” Hermione breathed.

“Wotcher, Hermione. What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously. “This makes two surprise visits in as many nights.”

“Alert Mad-Eye and Kingsley, Remus and Sirius too. Voldemort is on his way with a dozen Death Eaters,” Hermione informed her hastily, reaching down to tug her clutch purse free of her sock.

“Merlin,” Tonks breathed, swallowing thickly. “They’d have killed me.”

Yes, because they’d be arriving any moment to set up for the ambush on Harry, and one trained Auror would be no match for twelve merciless Death Eaters, all of which had no qualms about killing anyone who stood against them.

“Be quick about it, Tonks. Severus should already have Flooed Grimmauld Place to notify them, but it’ll carry more weight coming from you,” Hermione said in a rush, adding, “and I need to borrow your cloak.”

“Yeah, all right, then,” Tonks agreed, tossing her the precious cloak and taking off for the lift. It was already moving upwards when she slid the golden grill shut.

Hermione hastily stuffed the cloak in her bag as she stepped into the black room with its gleaming floors and blue, flickering torchlight. She focused on tucking it away instead of watching the dozen spinning doors.

When the rotating room came to a sudden stop, she walked directly forward, turning the doorknob. She was greeted with the sight of clocks. Hundreds of clocks in all shapes and sizes. The sound of ticking echoed through the room, reminding her of the Muggle tale of _Peter Pan_ that she’d not thought of since childhood. They were everywhere, some even suspended in midair. 

Most riveting, however, was the crystal bell jar atop the far desk. Hermione had stared at it, transfixed, for close to ten minutes that morning. The glittering grains of time swirled within, a tiny cyclone. If ever there was a way to get her back where she belonged, it was with the aid of those tiny, glimmering specks. Except, she no longer wished to go. She wasn’t trapped anymore. She was finally living the life she’d never known she actually wanted. War and all.

Hermione didn’t allow herself to get lost in pondering now. There wasn’t time. Ha ha. Subtle. It was almost as if the Department of Mysteries knew she didn’t belong in this time, and was sending her a message about the circumstances that had brought her there. The same thing had happened that morning too. It really was too bad she couldn't just grab a Time-Turner for a do-over if things didn't work the first time tonight. But it wasn't possible to have three of her at once. The device simply wouldn't work.

She glared at the deserted foyer, and marked the door before shutting it, waiting for the turning room to stop again. The eerie glow of dancing blue flames cast a pall over the room, and she glared around again before moving to an unmarked door. She had the strangest feeling that the room was sentient.

The rectangular room spread out before her, sunken into the floor with descending stone benches lining the sides like an ancient amphitheater. The raised dais in the middle drew her immediate attention, and she made her way involuntarily towards the stone arch perched in the center atop it. The cracked and crumbling structure with the ragged black veil draped across the opening was nothing much to look at. It hardly seemed possible that it was truly a gateway to the afterlife.

Hermione felt a perverse aversion to the sight of it. Nearly repulsed by its proximity. She recalled the way Harry was almost drawn to it, so contrary to her own impulses. She’d not understood at the time, but she did now. Harry was closer to death. He’d already been touched by it multiple times. Death held a strange allure for her friend, who had lost so much already by this point in time. And death was equally compelled to sink its claws into Harry for that final, eternal embrace. 

Hermione settled in against the wall to wait. It didn’t take long. She watched her friends come in -- _Merlin, they looked so incredibly, impossibly young_ \-- and saw precisely what she’d expected. Harry was utterly enthralled by the stone arch. 

“Who’s there?” he called, not bothering to keep his voice down.

“Careful!” the younger Hermione hissed, looking frantically about. Terror had her hands fluttering by her sides, wand clutched tightly in her fist. 

The first time Hermione had seen the arch, she’d felt much as she still did. Only concern for Harry could have compelled her to approach the strange feature. Hermione had always been cautious and distrustful of things she didn’t understand or wasn’t familiar with, and the veiled arch definitely classified as such.

“Sirius?” Harry quietly called as he inched steadily closer. 

Oh, Harry! It was almost as though he knew his godfather’s fate, as though he could predict it. Except she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that divination was not a skill Harry possessed. Not the real kind, anyhow.

“Let’s go. This isn’t right, Harry, come on, let’s go… Harry, let’s go, okay?” Hermione insisted, attempting to coax her friend from the room, to no avail.

“Okay,” Harry said, but he didn’t move. If anything, he looked even more ready to investigate the arch up close. “What are you saying?” he asked suddenly, throwing the question out into the silent room.

Hermione watched her younger self panicking, wondering if the pressure had finally gotten too much for Harry and he’d cracked. She announced worriedly, “Nobody’s talking, Harry!”

The rest of the conversation was tuned out as Hermione studied the rest of the assembled group, and idly wondered how they had ever managed to stay alive through all this! Neither of the boys ever listened to her. Not when they should.

Only herself and Ron seemed unaffected by the arch, the mystical draw having no effect on either of them.

Hermione caught sight of Luna’s expression, and sympathy welled within her. The blonde’s eyes held the glassy sheen of unshed tears. Was she hearing her mum calling to her? Now, after years of friendship, Hermione could see how unfair she’d been to the other witch when they first met. She’d learned how to give more credence to Luna’s wild imaginings, while still wishing her friend would at least try to be a bit more skeptical about some of the things she sought. Particularly those without a shred of proof!

Neville was just as wrapped up as Harry and Luna. Hermione couldn’t remember who he’d lost since his parents were still technically alive, but the death of a loved one seemed to be the common denominator. Except Ginny was also engrossed. So perhaps it was being touched by death or tragedy. Her experiences with Riddle’s diary during her first year would certainly qualify. 

Ginny. Merlin, she really was tiny. At nearly two inches shorter than her mum, Ginny had the look of a wood sprite. Her bravery, not to mention her ferocity on the Quidditch pitch and as a mother made her seem like such a force of nature than her Lilliputian size was hardly noticeable. But right now, knowing the danger she was about to face, it was hard not to focus on it. 

“That’s what I’ve been trying -- well, come on, then!” Hermione heard her younger self exasperatedly say, finally succeeding in dragging the group from the room.

Quickly, she shook the odd encounter off, and set about organizing everything. Once it was all in place, the tattered black veil began moving more forcefully. She had the sense that it was angry with her for trying to steal its intended victim. 

Then it was just a matter of navigating from the room to the Hall of Prophecies -- the primary reason she’d needed to come that morning. She’d needed time to map out the maze of halls in the department and gather the proper dimensions since her memory wasn’t as accurate as she’d needed.

Ron’s voice echoed through the room as she stealthily approached, wonderingly saying, “It’s -- it’s got your name on.”

“My name?” Harry asked, confusion rich and vibrant in the words.

“What is it? What’s your name doing down here?” Ron demanded.

Hermione slunk away, noting that things were happening precisely as she remembered. There was soon to be too much flying glass for her to risk remaining in this room, but at least she knew things were right on schedule.


	17. 17: What It All Comes Down To

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

Any dialogue you recognize is from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 17: What It All Comes Down To

June 1996

Hermione ducked past row after row of shelves containing dusty glass orbs. Some were dull, the inner glow having long been snuffed out after the prophecy came to pass. She’d never put full stock in the practice, even if this room was proof that divination was truly possible and did make her at least partially believe in it. But the sight of so many still glowing spheres, the individuals involved long since dead was evidence of its potential fallacy. Because for every prophecy that did come to pass, there were five that didn’t. 

Guesswork. Imprecise, unsubstantiated maybes. Varying paths. Possible forks in the road of life that a person could take, but the person could only travel down one, and once a single decision was made, new futures opened up while others withered and died.

She turned, hurrying down row seven toward the two black doors looming before her. “ _Maxime gravibus_ ,” she whispered, a heaviness sinking into the marrow of her bones. Struggling, she lifted her sluggish hand and turned the knob of the door on the left, trudging inside with slow, thudding steps.

That morning, when she’d discovered the room, she’d not gone inside, but had stared at the contents through the open door for several piercing minutes. Seeing it again now, took her breath away every bit as much as it had the first time.

The universe stretched out before her. Infinite and bright. So close she could reach out and touch, could literally pluck a star from the heavens and hold it in the palm of her hand. Tears formed in her eyes as she marveled at the sheer beauty and wonder spread out before her.

Nebulae filled with twisting pillars of blues and reds and purples created stars before her very eyes. One of the clouds of colorful dust and gases spun faster and faster, pulling more in closer and closer as it gathered speed. Eventually, it began to glow, brighter and brighter. And just like that, a star was born. 

Other stars floated through space, their gravity seeming to pull on one another, setting a trajectory that ended with a massive collision and the brilliant flash of a supernova. Flashes of orange and green and pink danced across her vision. In seconds, she watched as galaxies were born and died, their sparkling remnants scattered through the universe to be taken up and used to build a whole new system. Familiar planets passed closer by, seeming curious about her, wandering over to say hello. 

Hermione jerked back, barely avoiding getting sideswiped by Saturn’s rings. She’d remembered how Ginny and Luna described the room, how little control they’d had when floating. It was the reason she’d researched gravity charms that would allow her to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground and maintain control while helping them. She could feel the lightness in her steps as she walked forward, each step more of a bounce than a regular stride, but at least she wasn’t levitating. Hermione truly detested flying about.

She knew from her experience and reviewing her memories, that she, Harry, and Neville had been relatively fine at first, and had therefore been much more concerned about looking after the others. They were outnumbered, and honestly, none of them was a match for four Death Eaters.

In no time, the door was thrown wide and Ginny, followed closely by Ron with Luna close behind him, came charging in. The second all three were in, they were swept up, floating upwards and turning feet over head. Gravity had lost all meaning. 

Hermione saw the same awe and amazement on their faces as had decorated her own as they spun, turning this way and that. But it was short lived. Ron had just pinwheeled his arms, trying to swim through space towards the floor, but only succeeded in turning himself upside down when four Death Eaters spilled in behind them.

Ginny fired her Bat-Bogey Hex as Luna shot a Confusion Hex, and Ron aimed a well-placed Hurling Hex. Unfortunately, all of the spells went awry, none having ever tried to duel in a zero-G environment. 

The Death Eaters, still adjusting to suddenly floating in the air and navigating through space took a moment to return the volley of spells. Soon, the flashing lights of curses and hexes were filling the room, every bit as blinding as the pulsar star spinning closer and closer to Ron’s head.

No one seemed to be able to move fast enough as they waded through the air to avoid spells aimed their way, but many of the stars and moons proved excellent shields and obstacles to hide behind. ‘ _Protego,_ ’ Hermione mouthed, casting a shield behind Ron to block a flash of red light heading towards his back, but it did nothing to stop the beam of yellow that hit him straight on.

Almost immediately, Ron began snorting and giggling, his eyes crossing, and his body going lax.

“I’m flying! Look at me -- the Weasley King,” he called gayily, chortling so hard he snorted and sent the pulsar star veering off in the opposite direction. “No broom required -- no Quaffle either,” he added, reaching for one of Jupiter’s moons like he was trying to block it from passing him by.

How on earth had he survived so long as an Auror? And to think, he was always bragging about being so much better than her at dueling! He’d not lasted five full minutes!

At that moment, gravity was restored, and the assorted individuals plummeted to the ground. Ginny and Luna immediately scrambled to their feet, but Ron rolled around, clutching his stomach as he continued laughing hysterically and humming a few bars of _Weasley is Our King._

Ginny was a red tornado, tossing spell after spell as she turned, trying to avoid everything coming her way while standing guard over her downed brother. Hermione rapidly reassessed Ginny’s defensive capabilities. It was the first time apart from when they’d fought Bellatrix side-by-side in the Battle of Hogwarts that she’d seen the girl duel. 

“You want to fight? That’s it, come a little closer, Mars,” Ron joked, aiming a weak punch at the planet hovering just over their heads. “Mars is the God of War. Did you know that? Hey, Ginny! I asked --”

Luna shuffled back, tripping over Ron’s big feet and sprawled legs. Hermione prepared herself to intercede, having planned to only if truly necessary because of the risks, but the group was yanked back off their feet again. 

Ron went soaring towards Uranus, laughing as he called, “Uranus! Oh, that’s even better. So much funnier. Get it? Guys!”

“Ahhh!” Ginny cried, and Hermione watched as she twisted at the waist, firing a Stinging Hex at the Death Eater that had grabbed hold of her ankle.

“You’ll pay for that, girl,” he sneered, squeezing tighter and drawing a pained whimper from the redhead.

“Ginny, look out!” Luna called, screaming, “ _REDUCTO!_ ” 

The red jet of light blasted straight into Pluto, causing the two orbiting rocks to rupture apart as Ginny screamed, her cry only barely louder than the sound of her ankle breaking. The force of the explosion sent everyone veering off in different directions. 

Hermione threw open the door and whispered, “ _Accio Ron. Accio Ginny. Accio Luna._ ”

Her friends came soaring out, landing in a groaning, giggling heap just outside the door. Hermione slammed the door shut behind them, letting them think what they would about how they managed to get out.

Each of the girls wasted no time in grabbing one of Ron’s arms and hauling his limp spaghetti form up. Hermione saw Ginny blanch, but a second later, she’d set her jaw and they were limping forward under Ron’s weight.

“Ginny --” Luna began, looking around Ron’s chest at her friend.

“I’m _fine_. Move. We have to move, Luna,” Ginny hissed through gritted teeth, continuing steadily forward. Always so stubbornly independent. “ _Now!_ ”

Hermione shook her head and silently sealed the door behind them. “ _Finite_ ,” she breathed, ending the gravity spell on herself.

She winced when another crack ripped through the air, and Ginny cried out again. The trio didn’t slow down though, and Luna’s worried words were too hushed for Hermione to make out. Ginny hopped one-legged beside her as she continued to support her brother's dead weight.

With a final worried glance in the direction of her friends, Hermione turned and headed back down the aisle, taking a left at the end. Blinking, she turned her head, searching. Where was he? Nott should have been lying on the ground, incapacitated. She’d been over the memory enough times to know Lucius ordered the Death Eater be left behind. It had only been a few minutes since the groups split. She’d thought she would have time to make it back and bind him before he woke. Anything to even out the numbers a bit. Right now, they were at a distinct disadvantage.

Sighing in defeat, Hermione continued down the row. Nothing for it now, and there was still much to be done. Miles to go. 

Slowly, silently, she creeped towards the nearest open door, knowing what she’d find, picking up the pace when she heard a Death Eater -- _Dolohov_ \-- yell, “WE’VE GOT HIM! IN AN OFF--”

“ _Silencio!_ ” the younger Hermione voice rang out into the hall. 

Hermione ran faster. She was nearly too late. Breathless, she arrived in the doorway, slipping soundlessly into the wrecked office, broken and overturned furniture littering the room, and just in time to hear Harry say, “ _Petrificus Totalus_.” The other Death Eater’s limbs snapped together and he fell forward like a freshly cut tree.

“Well done, Ha--”

The younger Hermione began, and the instant she began speaking, Hermione silently said, ‘ _Protego!_ ’ The invisible shield sprang up before the young witch half a beat before Dolohov slashed his wand, firing a streak of purple flame. 

It punched through her shield, albeit with a less lethal force than it would have otherwise possessed, and across the younger Hermione’s chest, flaying her with a fiery whip, as her eyes widened in surprise, and she gasped, “Oh!”

Hermione watched the teen fall, seemingly in slow motion. Her scar burned with phantom pain, the memory of searing agony enough to have her staggering back against the wall, her feet threatening to crumple from beneath her. 

A flash of memory from when she’d woken in the hospital wing early the next morning came to her then. 

_Hermione blinked, screwing her eyes shut tight, hoping that wishing for it would help her find the sweet oblivion she’d been residing in a few moments earlier. It didn’t work. The pain was becoming more pronounced by the second._

_“Mmm,” she moaned, the whimper escaping the confines of her tightly clenched teeth. A noise directly above her had her eyes snapping open of their own accord. Where was she? Her wand! Was she still --_

_“You’re very lucky that you managed to get a Shield Charm up to deflect the brunt of it,” Madam Pomfrey scolded, disapproval radiating from her stern countenance as she bustled over Hermione, waving her wand in a series of flourishes that provided her with various diagnostics about her patient._

_The slight of the familiar matron, usually attending to any number of Harry’s frequent injuries grounded her. But the receding panic also allowed room for the searing burn of flames burrowing deeper and deeper into her chest to return. Tiny worms wiggling through her torso, inching their way through her lungs until the organs felt dry and shriveled, incapable of expanding and drawing in blessedly cool air._

_A loud grunt sounded from the bed beside her, and she glanced over to see Ron snoring, his mouth hanging wide open and a trail of drool dribbling out onto his pillow. Pristine white bandages wound around his arms, but otherwise, he was visibly fine. She released a wheezing breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, even though it was excruciating to try and exhale or inhale normally. Ron was all right._

_“But I didn’t use a Shield Charm,” Hermione argued, wincing at the raspy sound of her voice as she finally processed the statement and frowned at the stern matron. She sounded like someone that had spent the last five decades smoking three packs of cigarettes a day. “I silenced him is all. Could that have been why it wasn’t as… effective?”_

_Even as she asked, her brain desperate to soak up any and all knowledge offered, she looked past Ron. Where was Harry? Was he all right as well? And the others, if they weren’t there, did that mean they were alive and well?_

_“No, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape hissed, shutting a nearby cabinet door with enough force to make her jump. The sudden movement had her wincing again even as she looked at her professor. In her cursory glance about the room during her search for her friends, she’d overlooked him._

_His scowl turned darker when he noted the pain written in every throbbing line of her body. He stalked over and shoved his fist towards her face. It stopped less than an inch away, and Hermione had to blink to bring it into focus. He was clutching a vial._

_“Drink it. It’s not poison, you ridiculous chit,” he growled._

_Shakily, Hermione accepted the small glass bottle, warmed from the heat of his tight grip and swallowed the contents without tasting more than a hint of peppermint and a tangy herb she’d not had before._

_“These too,” he ordered, practically pouring two more vials down her throat when she didn’t move fast enough for him. “And those when next you wake, the others before you sleep tonight. Take them every day for the next two months,” he said gesturing to two groups of assembled potions on the nightstand. There were six -- no, seven additional vials. Ten total potions. And she was expected to take them regularly for --_

_“Two months?” she repeated, wondering if she’d misheard._

_“Yes,” he said sharply, the word clipped and hard. All the while, he gravely assessed her. The tightness in her chest eased a fraction, and the stiffness receded from her aching limbs, leaving them blessedly numb instead. She could properly breathe again, at any rate. “Well?”_

_“Thank you,” she tried, but that only served to make his look blacker. Apparently that hadn’t been what he’d been wanting to hear from her, but she was at a loss for what else he may have expected. “My friends?”_

_“The students will be fine,” Madam Pomfrey assured her briskly, making her opinion of the risks they’d taken quite clear._

_Wait… Students? Did that mean others had been there? Were they not all right? Who --_

_“No thanks to Potter,” Professor Snape snarled, seeming to hate Harry far more than usual._

_“I know your past with Black must make tonight’s events emotionally complicated and challenging to process, but perhaps Potter was the one that managed to throw up the charm in time to save Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey suggested, unsuccessfully navigating the dark professor’s temper._

_Professor Snape’s over sized nostrils flared at her words, and his lips curled back to reveal crooked, yellow teeth. Hermione’s brow furrowed at the sight. Why did he truly believe Harry incapable of doing anything right or good? Why did he find it so unbelievable that Harry would try to protect others? Surly he saw Harry’s noble streak. She herself had pointed out his hero complex just before they’d gone. It was a trademark of his personality. An undeniable staple of the core of who Harry Potter was, and would forever be._

_And what was the bit about Black? Did she mean Sirius? What happened to Sirius? Why did Professor Snape look guilty?_

_“Do not try to understand what I am feeling, and do not give the boy credit where none is due. It is his fault that she nearly died in the first place,” Professor Snape accused, almost sounding angry on her behalf._

_It threw her. Did he assume she’d followed blindly? Or perhaps mistakenly believed that Harry forced her to go with him?_

_“I didn’t have to go! That was my choice,” Hermione insisted, pursing her lips as she boldly met his ferocious glare. “Sir,” she added hastily, assuming his glare was partially the result of her insolence._

_The onyx chips of his eyes glittered menacingly. They were so cold. Flat. Possessing not a single shred of warmth or positive emotion. She felt the urge to place the blame with him. Why had he insisted on goading Harry in Umbridge’s office? He was the adult in this situation! He should have more restraint. More maturity. How was she supposed to defend him, and his motivations or authority to Harry and Ron when he behaved as a spiteful, bullying child!_

_His eyes widened, and she remembered his proficiency at Legilimency. Was he in her mind right now? Following her every damning thought?_

_“What did you mean?” she asked suddenly, redirecting thoughts and forcing her mind to circle back to how the conversation had started in the first place. He stared at her blankly, his face an unreadable mask now that he’d shut the gates on his emotions. “Earlier. You said no,” she reminded him._

_“You were hit with a dark curse. The majority of which, aside from the Unforgivables, are naturally nonverbal, so a Silencing Charm would not have lessened the deadly effect,” he explained slowly, letting the gravity of each word sink in before he spoke the next._

_“Oh,” she breathed. The word sounded small and insignificant to her own ears. It in no way managed to encompass the magnitude of the encounter she’d been in only hours earlier._

_“Indeed,” Professor Snape intoned, pressing his thin lips into a flat line. He waited, seeming to relish how she was absorbing the enormity of the situation. “Perhaps this will teach you to be more cautious in the future and not go rushing off into dangerous situations that you are vastly unprepared for,” he stated sharply._

_The set down could have come off as condescending or patronizing, Harry certainly would have taken it that way, but Hermione had the sense that it was a genuine warning offered with her best intentions in mind. Hermione averted her eyes, no longer able to meet his hard stare. She’d never felt so young or ignorant before in her life._

_“Yes, Sir,” she said, feeling suitably chastised. With a final enigmatic noise, he turned and strode from the room._

_“Without his knowledge of dark magic, you’d be in St. Mungo’s right now, and I’m not sure they would have known what to do to help you,” Madam Pomprey stated succinctly, managing to really drive home how foolish she’d been._

_“Oh,” she repeated dully. She didn’t really know what to do with that knowledge. Professor Snape was always looking out for them, even when he so clearly disliked them. No wonder Dumbledore’s trust in him was incontestable. ___

__It seemed to take a lifetime, as well as no time at all for Harry and Neville to react to Dolohov’s attack on her. Then Harry was kneeling beside her and refusing to give up the prophecy. Hermione watched with slightly morbid fascination as the next few moments unfolded. She’d been unconscious, and never known exactly what happened next, only that the Order had arrived and they were saved._ _

__From here on out, she was as blind as the rest of them. Mucking about, guessing, and hopefully getting a little lucky._ _

__There’d been no way to plan for the next bit that happened, so she watched and waited. Harry’s cry of, “ _PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!_ ” didn’t really surprise her. He certainly had his favorites when it came to dueling. _ _

__She fought back the instinctive cheer that rushed through her at seeing Dolohov bested, wishing to clap Harry on the back and tell him what a good show it’d been. But then the boys were checking her over and Neville was insisting on taking her with them. Did they seriously mean to drag her along behind them like a rag doll? _Honestly!__ _

__Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hand to block the sound when Neville hoisted her over his shoulder to carry her limp form out of the room. So, definitely _not_ dragging her. She’d not known he’d done that for her. Truthfully, she’d assumed the boys had risked leaving her there, knowing they were being hunted like dogs, and someone from the Order had later found and recovered her unconscious form. Neville truly was so much braver than he’d realized before this night._ _

__Once the boys had gone, Hermione bound Jugson’s stiff, petrified form. Then she approached the prone form of Dolohov. He lay a rigid statue, face down on the ground. The injuries he’d dealt her the night before still throbbed, and the scar on her chest seemed to burn anew._ _

__She truly, deeply hated this man. He’d been the star of her nightmares for close to two years. At least until her encounter with Greyback and Bellatrix in Malfoy Manor. Their… creative... means of torturing her had finally allowed new memories to haunt her at night, replacing Dolohov. Though he still occasionally made a guest appearance for old time’s sake._ _

__The world would be a better place without him in it. So many people would be spared from his particular brand of cruelty. She could end him right now, with no one the wiser. And she doubted anyone would blame her in the least._ _

__“ _Incarcerous_ ,” she whispered, binding him from head to foot. _ _

__Because in the end, she wasn’t like him, and it would never be all right to deliberately take a life._ _

__It took several unsteady breaths before she could turn away and locate the source of the toddler cries echoing through the room. The last of the Death Eaters present had plopped down and was banging his fists angrily on the ground as he wailed. She’d barely lifted her wand when the very same four Death Eaters she’d trapped in the Universe Room filed in._ _

__Merlin’s balls! They were supposed to be locked up tight and out of the fight._ _

__Hesitantly, Hermione inched back, pressing her back against the wall of the room, behind an overturned desk, and hoping her Disillusionment Charm was strong enough that they’d not notice her. Her breathing shallowed, conscious of the fact that every rise and fall of her chest made her outline flicker noticeably._ _

__If the boys had left her here, surely she would have died. There was no way they’d have just left her peacefully. Or they’d have trotted her out to use as leverage against Harry in order to acquire the prophecy. It’s what they’d done to lure him there in the first place, after all._ _

__In less than ten seconds, they’d undone her efforts to restrain the two Death Eaters Harry had used Full Body-Bind Curses on. But they seemed unsure what to do with their final decommissioned comrade._ _

__“Leave him,” one of the Death Eaters ordered, laughing at the spectacle his companion made with his toddler head on a grown body even as he took charge._ _

__“He’s probably more intelligent this way,” Crabbe laughed. She recognized him from his resemblance to his son as well as from his trial after the war._ _

__“Certainly more attractive,” Goyle agreed cruelly. He was as easily recognizable for the same reason._ _

__“Enough! Find Potter. The Dark Lord will be most displeased if we return empty handed,” the first Death Eater, and the only one still wearing a mask commanded._ _

__“I, for one, have no wish to endure his wrath should we fail,” Dolohov announced, already heading towards one of the open doors with the intention of searching out where Harry had gone._ _

__“This way,” Jugson called, gesturing towards the door Hermione had seen Harry and Neville disappear through while the latter was carrying her out. It probably would have been easier for him to levitate her, but the boys likely hadn’t considered that possibility. “Crabbe, Goyle, get Malfoy and tell him we’ve got Potter!”_ _

__Hastily, Hermione bound the sobbing, man-child Death Eater, then took off after the others, knowing they’d lead her to her friends. She’d balked at binding the Death Eater the first time around, but she’d changed a bit since she was sixteen and in her fifth year._ _

__At least there were only eleven now, even as she saw a figure come hurdling out of another room to join the racing group of Death Eaters. Though that really wasn’t much better than twelve when they’d managed to take out both her and Ron. Not to mention that Ginny was in no shape to continue fighting._ _

__“Harry, it’ll suffocate him!” the girl on her mind screamed as Hermione followed the herd of charging Death Eaters into the room. Hermione’s head darted about, trying to find what Ginny was referring to even as a flare of red light hit the young witch in the chest and she toppled over sideways. Stunned._ _

__“ _STUBEFY! STUBEFY, STUBEFY!_ ” Neville cried again and again through his broken nose, with deep, dripping red gloving his face, but all to no avail._ _

__Hermione saw Harry turn, suddenly leaving the still struggling Ron, a brain with tentacles wrapped tightly about his face and arms, and began sprinting through the room. All five Death Eaters trotting along behind him._ _

__‘ _Stupefy_ ,’ she silently cast, catching the last of the Death Eaters in the back. _ _

__Neville glanced around, still scrambling to get up from where he’d retrieved her fallen wand, but as he caught sight of Ron, his wand waving madly about, he turned and chased after the mass of Death Eaters following Harry. Probably, he chalked it up to Ron getting in a lucky hit._ _

__“ _Diffindo!_ ” she called, using Harry’s idea to sever one of the tentacles latched onto Ron’s face. She could see where he'd already managed to sever a few clinging tendrils. Again and again, she cut through each of those remaining. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” she finally sighed, levitating the brain back into the tank as Ron collapsed, still giggling feebly. The sounds quickly morphed as he gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of air, altering to pitiful moans._ _

__With Ron managed, she ran to Luna, noticing her raspy breathing. Gently, Hermione ran a hand over Luna’s side, feeling several broken ribs. One of her lungs may have been punctured too, based on the sounds she was making. Healing spells weren’t her specialty, but she did know how to mend a broken bone. Looking after her clumsy godson had made it a necessity to learn. The number of broken arms Teddy had had over the years was staggering. Too bad she couldn’t have healed Ginny earlier too without raising suspicion._ _

__Hermione had barely uttered the necessary spell when she felt a hand on her arm. She looked down to find Luna staring at her as though she could clearly see through the Disillusionment Charm concealing her._ _

__“Thank you, my friend,” Luna wheezed, her eyes fluttering shut. Hermione swallowed, wondering just how much of this Luna would clearly remember. She’d never hinted anything, not ever, but Luna was difficult to read at the best of times._ _

__There was nothing to be done about the damage to Luna’s lung, but luckily she wouldn’t have to wait long. Even now, Hermione could hear steps approaching._ _

__Remus, Sirius, and Tonks entered a heartbeat later._ _

__“No!” Remus cried, moving towards the younger Hermione’s prone form. Agony twisting his face into a mask of anguish and horror._ _

__“Remus, I’m fine. _Finite_ ,” she called, releasing the spell to show herself. He stared at her, drinking her in. A wealth of unspoken declarations written across his face. “I’m fine. Never better,” she repeated. Then rapidly added, “They’re through there, in the Death Room.” _ _

__At that, the others went barreling off towards the still open door she’d indicated. Remus hesitated though, looking from her to the unconscious girl on the floor._ _

__“Moody and Kingsley are here too,” he said, reluctant to leave her even as his friends reached the doorway. Hermione Disillusioned herself as he spoke, knowing there was no time to waste._ _

__“I promise I’m fine, but Harry’s surrounded, we have to go!” Hermione urged, rushing forward as well. The mention of Harry propelled him forward, and he followed on the heels of his friends._ _

__Chaos filled the room as everyone began dueling, flashes of light soared across the room in every direction. Stray spells caused the stone benches to explode, raining down chunks of gravel amidst the clouds of dust and flying debris._ _

__Hermione crept carefully down the amphitheater, working her way slowly towards the cursed dais, ducking or freezing whenever necessary to avoid detection or being accidentally hit._ _

__Her purse, with its Undetectable Extension Charm and recently added Silencing and Concealment Charms, was right where she’d left it. The Permanent Sticking Charm she’d used earlier still holding it firmly in place on the bottom right corner of the arch. Opening it, Hermione pulled the borrowed invisibility cloak out and draped it over the bag as the final precaution, then expanded the satchel until its opening was as large as the ancient stone structure._ _

___Please let this be the correct side_ , she silently begged._ _

__Hermione looked at it straight on. With the invisibility cloak covering the front, she could see straight through to the fluttering flaps of the veil’s tattered remnants. Shifting around, all she could see from behind was the veil as well. As though there really was an entire realm contained within the eight inch thick stone. If there weren’t, she’d be able to see straight through to the far wall of the chamber._ _

__She’d not understood the complexities of that her first time in the room. Her brain refused to wrap itself around such abstract ideas, preferring concrete facts and tactile evidence. Probably why she was rather dismissive of Muggle theoretical physics._ _

___“I watched him falling back when Bellatrix Stunned him. He fell through the veil. Then he just vanished. Gone,”_ Harry had said one night in their tent after Ron left and it was just the two of them. It was the first and only time he’d ever mentioned watching Sirius die. _“Now Ron’s gone too.”__ _

__That conversation was what gave her the idea. It only had to look like Sirius fell through the veil and vanished suddenly. Appearances were everything. Muggle magic tricks were all about sleight of hand. This would be the best one yet._ _

__A Death Eater backing towards her momentarily distracted her from checking the set up. “ _Stupefy_ ,” she gasped, hitting him in the back. _ _

__As he fell to the floor, Hermione came face-to-face with Mad-Eye’s magical blue eye trained unmoving on her, seeing straight through her Concealment Charm. He scowled, but turned to take on two new opponents._ _

__A mad, cackling laugh filled the room, dragging Hermione’s unwilling gaze to the source. The sight of Bellatrix, with her long, tangled ebony hair and heavily hooded eyes, was a punch to the solar plexus. Echoes of the agony she’d suffered at the woman’s hands forced bile up her throat, and Hermione only barely managed not to vomit in the face of the monster’s untempered glee._ _

__Emotions she still couldn’t fully process swamped her. Her hearing was muffled, shoved beneath a roaring waterfall._ _

__Bellatrix battled Sirius. Spells flew with alarming speed, their movements little more than blurs and streaks of colored light. Hermione had never known just how capable Sirius was. Easily, he rivaled Mad-Eye and Kingsley, or even the Harry of her time. And… and… he was _grinning_. Obviously enjoying the rush of fighting._ _

__With difficulty, Hermione tore her transfixed gaze away, searching for Remus, her steady rock in a storm -- she needed his strength to drive away her demons -- and was just in time to cry, “ _Protego!_ ” _ _

__A shield sprung up between Kingsley and Rodolphus Lestrange, who had aimed a curse at the dark Auror’s exposed back while he was busy dueling the man’s brother. Rodolphus spun, looking for the castor of the Shield Charm, and Hermione crouched low by the central dais._ _

__The distraction gave Kingsley the opportunity to stun Rodolphus, sending him toppling forward to land in a heap at the base of the raised dais._ _

__Hermione resisted the urge to jump into the fray, knowing she had to stick close to the arch, and knowing how dangerous it would be if she fought in truth. The risk of exposure too great. As she watched, the various Order members traded opponents spinning and switching like they were all taking part in a well-choreographed eighteenth century Quadrille dance._ _

__From her vantage, she saw Mad-Eye lying unconscious, sprawled between two stone benches. They needed to keep their fighters going, to offset being so outnumbered. “ _Envenerate_ ,” Hermione cast, trying to fire a Reviving Spell, but she missed, having to deflect the spell when Tonks and a masked Death Eater moved into her line of sight. _ _

__Tonks and her opponent merged into the fight Sirius was having with two Death Eaters that had somehow managed to take Bellatrix’s place dueling the animagus, though Tonks somehow managed to fight while also raining spells down on where Bellatrix stood three rows below._ _

__“Sirius! Harry needs you!” Hermione cried, seeing Dolohov bearing down on Harry and Neville._ _

__“I’ve got them, go!” Tonks promised, taking on all three as Sirius bolted away, determined to protect his godson._ _

__Hermione still didn’t have a clear line of sight to Mad-Eye, and she couldn’t risk moving further from where she currently was. Finally, she spotted Remus, working his way steadily to Harry’s side, leaping from row to row, and ultimately taking Sirius’s place as Sirius went for Bellatrix, intent on taking her on once more._ _

__When Tonks was blasted a moment later, Hermione hissed, “ _Spongify_ ,” to cast a Cushioning Charm and break the witch’s fall. It opened the way to Mad-Eye, and she quickly took advantage, calling, “ _Envenerate_.”_ _

__Hermione started to inch forward, intending to revive Tonks as well, but had to dive to the side to avoid colliding with Lucius’s body smashing headlong into the dais, right where she’d been standing. Her feet weren’t even under her again when Sirius and Bellatrix were suddenly dueling it out on the dais._ _

__She could scarcely breathe. They were on the right side of the arch! This was it, she knew it. Her plan just might work. She’d conjured canaries to try it on, and they’d survived getting so close to the veil. Hopefully it would be the same for a human being, or something not conjured. She hoped._ _

__Hermione was so focused on the pair, anticipating the moment she’d have to act, that she nearly missed Dumbledore’s arrival. The duo fighting certainly had._ _

__Almost on cue, Bellatrix’s second jet of red light hit Sirius. He crumpled over, blasted right off his feet. Back. Back. Into the invisibility cloak that folded about him, the edges fluttering briefly as he sailed into the cavernous depths of her handbag._ _

__With a wave of her wand, the bag snapped shut, closing and shrinking at the precise moment the cloak closed over Sirius. Her purse continued shrinking back to its regular size, sealed against the bottom corner of the arch as the cloth of the veil continued to wave angrily. Earlier, she’d transfigured her bag to match the color and texture of the crumbling stone, and if you didn’t know to look for it, you’d never see it._ _

__Had it worked? She thought so, but what if the mysterious veil had spells in place that prevented such deceptions? She’d just have to wait and see._ _

__With a surreptitious glance around, all she saw were stunned faces. For a moment, no one reacted, all seeming to truly believe that Sirius had fallen through the veil. Then the great Albus Dumbledore was waving his wand, rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, and all of the focus had shifted to him._ _

__Bellatrix began laughing, screaming gloriously in her apparent triumph. The mad cackles echoing off the high ceiling._ _

__“SIRIUS! SIRIUS!” Harry shouted, leaping down the stone steps, sprinting towards dais._ _

__Hermione watched in horror as Remus grabbed him, using every ounce of strength he had to restrain the distraught teen. She’d never known, never suspected the extent of Harry’s grief in this moment._ _

__“There’s nothing you can do, Harry --”_ _

__“Get him, save him, he’s only just gone through!” Harry begged, the staggering desperation in his words containing hidden daggers that shredded her soul when the blows of his haunted words reached her._ _

__In the days that followed, Harry had been aloof and distant. Hermione had suspected that his past upbringing made it impossible for him to properly process what happened, and denial had immediately shredded the abused teen. She’d, apparently falsely, believed that it had only slowly dawned on Harry that Sirius was dead a little more each time he’d remembered that he could no longer rely on Sirius for support and guidance._ _

__But now she saw the truth. He’d keenly felt the loss of his godfather from the moment it happened, and it had utterly wrecked him._ _

__“It’s too late, Harry --”_ _

__“We can still reach him --”_ _

__Two Death Eaters managed to get free from Dumbledore’s restraints, but Moody sent them scuttling back the way they’d come, and almost at once they were bound again._ _

__“He hasn’t gone! SIRIUS! SIRIUS!” Harry continued to scream, begging for his godfather to come back. Hermione’s heart broke for her distraught best friend, his pain the lash of a whip striking her over and over, unrelenting._ _

__The sound of Bellatrix’s laughter tapering off drew Hermione’s attention to the woman not five feet away from her. She’d lifted her wand and aimed at the grieving duo. Hermione fired a Stinging Hex before she could think better of it, and Belltrix whipped around searching for her attacker._ _

__Then Kingsley was there, taking over where Sirius had left off._ _

__“There’s nothing you can do, Harry...nothing…” Remus said brokenly, twisting the shattered pieces of Hermione’s heart. The look on the love of her life’s face was hollow. As dead as he believed his friend to be. “He’s gone.”_ _

__She would have given anything to spare him this pain now, but it hadn’t worked out that way, and honestly, his reaction might not have been authentic enough to fool Harry if he’d known. It was a harsh truth she felt sick even acknowledging._ _

__“He can’t come back, Harry,” Remus continued, softly stating the truth neither man wanted to acknowledge. Harry refused to accept the truth. Couldn’t, even as Remus tried to drive the point home. “He can’t come back because he’s d--”_ _

__“HE -- IS -- NOT -- DEAD! SIRIUS!” Harry hollered, denial etched in every straining line of his body as he continued fighting Remus’s hold._ _

__Kingsley was still dueling Bellatrix, colors flashed in a dazzling light show. Both were grimacing now, all humor gone as they fought to not only win, but with lethal intent._ _

__An unlucky hit slipped through Kingsley’s guard, and heart in her throat, Hermione silently mouthed, “ _Accio Kingsley!_ ” Her spell had him falling forward, off the dais instead of back through the veil in Sirius’s place._ _

__“SHE KILLED SIRIUS! SHE KILLED HIM -- I’LL KILL HER!” Harry’s voice cried out, and suddenly he was charging forward, after Bellatrix, who had easily dodged Dumbledore’s attempts to stop her as she fled the room._ _

__“Harry, no!” Remus cried, leaping up the steps, but Harry didn’t seem to hear him._ _

__“Harry, stop!” Albus cried, also trying to reign Harry back, but it was no use. Her friend’s rage was fueling him, gasoline on a bonfire._ _

__Even Kingsley had sat up, and was trying to go after Harry. Hermione was horrified by his reaction and determination. He hadn’t actually tried to kill Bellatrix, had he?_ _

__Hermione, still unsure if she succeeded in saving Sirius, debated going after Harry herself. But she couldn’t. If Sirius was alive, they’d have to move before Ministry workers arrived._ _

__“Wait!” Dumbledore ordered, stopping Remus and Kingsley in their tracks. Both turned to look at the older man. With a wave of his wand, The captured Death Eaters all slumped to the ground, apparently asleep. “Remus, Kingsley, see to the students. Mad-Eye, revive Nymphadora and watch over our prisoners. I’ll take care of Harry!”_ _

__Then he was gone in a flash of golden light._ _


	18. 18: Moment of Truth

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

One more chapter of this story! The second book, _Anything_ , will be up as soon as I can finish the first chapter.

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 18: Moment of Truth

June 1996

A magical blue eye was suddenly trained on Hermione, staring so intently through strands of his grizzly hair that she feared a laser would materialize from it and cut her straight through at any second.

“What have you done, girl?” he demanded, bearing down on her, wooden leg knocking heavily against the floor with each step.

“What I had to,” Hermione said, determinedly, waving her wand to reveal herself to those assembled in the room that were still conscious -- Order members all. The sound of her voice seemed to shock Remus out of his stupor. A strangled noise of distress escaped his lips when he looked at her, but there was more there too, and right then wasn’t the moment.

Kingsley looked between her and the devastated werewolf, announcing, “Thank you -- for saving me. I’ll see to the students, Remus. Stay and find out what’s going on.”

Remus nodded, hungry eyes pinning Hermione in place, demanding answers.

“Sirius may be alive. I need help moving him before the Ministry officials arrive down here if my plan worked,” Hermione confessed, standing tall even as Moody glared at her, shaking his head at her blatant disregard for their laws and the countless risks she’d taken to change the past she remembered.

“Mad-Eye, will you --”

The ex-Auror cut Kingsley off, growling, “I think I’m going to stay right here.” His magical eye, usually a nonstop whirl of motion, had yet to look away from her. 

“T-Tonks?” Hermione requested, needing to clear her suddenly dry throat as she said the young witch’s name.

“Wotcher,” Tonks said tiredly. A critical once over showed just how washed-out her features were. Probably a lingering effect of whatever curse she’d been hit with earlier.

“Let me know if they’re coming, will you?” Hermione asked, recognizing the imperative of getting Sirius out undetected. Tonks nodded, staggering noticeably as she went out the way Kingsley had a minute earlier.

“Well? What have you done?” Moody demanded, now that she could no longer continue stalling.

Hermione ignored him, sparing a brief glance at Remus’s frozen stance. If she had to hazard a guess, he wasn’t allowing himself to dare hope she’d truly saved his friend. Not until he saw proof with his own eyes. 

When she reached the dais, Hermione expanded the camouflage bag and opened it. “ _Envenerate_ ,” she said, pointing the wand inside. A gasp sounded from the shadowy depths, but nothing else. “Sirius?” she tried.

Still nothing.

Was she wrong? Had she failed somehow? 

But no, she’d heard him. He was alive. So why wasn’t he swaggering out, laughing before emitting a whoop of joy for once again defying death? That’s the reaction she’d expected. The one she’d prepared herself for, modeling it after his behavior in her third year when she’d helped him escape the Dementor’s Kiss.

Reaching into the bag, she jumped, startled, when a trembling hand clutched at her forearm. Hermione pulled, guiding Sirius from the lightless space and into the dimly lit room. The veil on the arch gave an ominous flap before settling again just as Sirius stepped out.

One glance at the arch, and Sirius crumpled to the ground, shaking and sobbing. Alarmed, Hermione kneeled beside him, wrapping her arms about his broad shoulders. He was shaking as he clung to her, mumbling quiet words beneath his breath that she couldn’t make out.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re alive. You’re alive, Sirius,” Hermione soothed, hugging him tighter.

“I-I --”

“You’re all right,” Hermione repeated, looking over his shoulder to see Remus. He too had dropped to his knees and was staring in disbelieving wonder at his friend. Hermione longed to go to him, but doubted she could free herself from Sirius’s stranglehold without the aid of a crowbar. Plus, she couldn’t stand to abandon him when he so clearly needed the support.

“I don’t want to die,” Sirius gasped, the words tangling in a sob, twisted and caught on barbed wire.

“You’re not going to. I promise,” Hermione vowed. He was alive, and she’d make sure he stayed that way for a good long while.

“Yeah, and what about the rest of the world? More than a dozen people just saw him go through the veil,” Moody said gruffly, pacing back and forth as he towered over them.

“I don’t want to die,” Sirius whimpered. “Please. I-I --”

“You got a plan for this? There are consequences --”

“I do!” Hermione broke in, pulling free of Sirius’s grip and standing to face down Mad-Eye. “I didn’t make this decision lightly. I know what has to happen,” she growled, hands on her hips, and lips pursed angrily. She wasn’t a child with no care for how her actions impacted others.

“You saved him,” Remus breathed, drawing her attention back to the usually stoic man. Tears leaked down his face and unmitigated tenderness and gratitude shone from the depths of his crystalline eyes, glinting like so much fractured glass.

She glanced down at Sirius to ensure he was all right for the time being. He seemed to have collected himself a bit and was looking around the room, his gaze darting briefly back towards the arch, almost unwillingly every few seconds.

Moody came to a stop less than half a foot in front of her, threatening, “Dumbledore is going to have your head when he learns --”

“Harry?” Sirius gasped, cutting across them. Then he was scrambling up, heading towards the stone benches, intention clear. 

“He’s with Albus,” Hermione tried. “Remus!” Hermione called, hoping he’d understand. He did, responding immediately, and she watched as Remus hastily moved to intercept his friend. . 

“Harry! HARRY!” Sirius called. Remus threw his arms around him, restraining him much as he had Harry minutes earlier, using all of his strength to contain Sirius. 

“Sirius, stop! You can’t go to him,” Hermione warned, shattering his panic. Sirius’s head swung around to glare at her.

“Let me go, he needs me!” he growled at Remus, struggling to get free, still paralleling the earlier scene of Remus wrestling Harry back.

“YOU CAN’T!” Hermione screamed, effectively capturing his attention.

“What? Of course I can. I have to check on him,” Sirius insisted, looking from her to Mad-Eye, then finally craning his neck to meet Remus’s sad eyes. “Moony, he’s my godson. I have to go to him. I promised James.”

“So help me, Black, if you take one more step,” Mad-Eye growled, moving to get in Sirius’s face as he had Hermione’s.

“Harry needs --”

“Padfoot, no,” Remus denied, closing his eyes to shut out the betrayed look Sirius was pining him with.

“He thinks you’re d-dead. He h-has to believe t-that you are,” Hermione explained, her voice breaking as she began to cry, the pressure building so fast behind her eyes that everything before her was a blur -- all except the haunted look on Sirius’s face.

“What are you saying, Granger?” he gasped, shaking his head, refusing to process what she was telling him. It was so reminiscent of the reaction Harry had just had to losing Sirius. 

Merlin, the two were so very similar. Why had it taken her all this time to realize it?

Hermione hated feeling responsible for keeping the two apart when they so clearly loved and needed one another, but it was the only way. The only way to keep him alive, and give them a future together.

“For the next fourteen years, you have to be as much of a ghost as I am,” she said flatly, trying not to break down when there was still more she had to ask of him before they were to leave.

“But…” Sirius said, looking from her to Remus to Moody as he trailed off because he knew she was correct, even if he wished it could be any other way.

“What are fourteen years when you could after eighty with him and his family afterwards?” Hermione inquired, reminding him what was truly at stake.

“She’s right,” Remus said wearily, lending Hermione whatever support he could. Probably he was still processing the fact that his last friend hadn’t really just died. That would be overwhelming for anyone.

“I need you to make an Unbreakable Vow that you won’t try to see Harry,” Hermione added quietly, knowing before she said it that he’d baulk at her stipulation, but knowing it was necessary. 

She still remembered how he’d gone to Privet Drive in his animagus form to see Harry after breaking out of Azkaban. He was incapable of staying away without proper motivation. Their bond was too deep for him to be trusted not to risk everything the very next time he thought Harry was in trouble.

“No,” Sirius refused, shaking his head and looking again from person to person, hoping someone would be able to offer him a reprieve.

“Do it for James, and a future with Harry,” Remus implored, promising, “I’ll look after him in the meantime.”

Sirusis exchanged a meaningful look with Hermione, likely recalling that she’d admitted Remus died, and therefore couldn’t keep his word to look after Harry, not the full time. She’d never told him when that dreaded event would take place.

“You have to, Sirius. It’s the only way. Does this satisfy you, Moody?” Hermione asked sharply, waiting for the grizzly, old wizard to lend his support. The part of his nose that remained intact twitched, but he offered a single, brief nod of acquiescence.

“Yes. It’s that or you go ahead through that arch the way you were meant to,” Mad-Eye intoned severely, making sure Sirius understood his options perfectly.

Sirius went pale at the open threat, reaching out and clutching her arm in a painfully tight grip. She worried he’d faint as he rasped, “ _Hermione_ ,” her name a plea.

“I am so sorry. This was the only way. Harry has to believe you’re gone. It’s the motivation he needs to keep him going during the worst of what’s to come,” Hermione explained gently, covering his hand on her arm. “And… and a reminder of why he needs to be more cautious in the future -- it’s not only his life he risks when he follows his impulses.”

“What’s it to be? Decide now, time is short,” Moody barked, tapping his wand against his thigh where he was holding it loosely, ready to do what was necessary if Sirius fought them on this.

“All right,” Sirius sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat against Remus as he agreed to their demands of him, the unexpected price for his life. Honestly, he was getting off relatively cheaply -- if she said so herself.

“Mad-Eye, can you act as Bonder?” Hermione requested, reaching out to clasp Sirius’s right hand. 

She’d never taken the vow herself, but she’d read about them, and was certain she understood all the loopholes and dangers involved. The words needed to be careful so as not to risk him or tie his hands. Honestly, it was a bit like writing new legislation for Ministry laws.

“Yes,” he replied, already raising his wand for that purpose and pressing it firmly against their linked hands.

“Will you promise not to deliberately attempt to see Harry until after I’ve gone back in time?” Hermione said carefully, watching as his face fell farther at hearing this.

He swallowed visibly before replying brokenly, “I will.” 

“Granger,” Moody prompted, apparently finding that insufficient as the glowing golden light from his wand snaked out to wrap around their joined hands.

Sirius sent her a beseeching look, silently begging her not to make him vow anything else too extreme.

“And will you promise not to deliberately sabotage or interfere with any of the war plans that might knowingly alter events from how I remember them without either mine or Albus’s permission first?”

“I will,” he said, forehead wrinkling as a second golden beam linked around their hands, overlapping the first.

It glowed brighter, sensed the vow was complete before it faded.

“Excellent timing. They’re in the lift headed this way,” Tonks said, stepping into the doorway. She leaned against the wall, looking for all the world like she was going to faint at any moment. Her hair was a plain, mousy brown, and her skin held a waxy, ashen pallor. “Good to see you again, Cousin.”

“We have to go,” Hermione stated, her heart rate picking up as the Ministry officials neared. “Tell Albus he’ll need to come up with a reasonable explanation for Harry about how this all went down. Harry won’t question it if he’s offered an explanation first. And that it’s time,” Hermione instructed, assuming Albus would accompany the new arrivals down to ensure the Death Eaters ended up in Azkaban, and his students returned to Hogwarts, where they belonged.

“Time?” Mad-Eye pressed, seeming to have appointed himself as Hermione’s ambassador, and therefore the one to pass her message along. Great. He was probably chomping at the bit to tell the headmaster what she’d done to save Sirius. But surely Dumbledore would understand. Surely!

“For Harry to know the truth -- _the whole truth_ ,” Hermione explained. She’d known it happened this night, but now she had a better understanding of how the information he’d learned had overshadowed his grief for Sirius. Or at the very least, tempered it.

Hermione looked to Remus. He was already watching her. It was time for the same with them as well. An unspoken promise passed between them, and for the first time in weeks, Hermione felt like she could breathe easily, that everything would work itself out as hoped.

“ _Portus_ ,” Hermione said, turning her purse into an unregistered Portkey. When Moody gave her a sharp look, she merely shrugged. They had bigger things to worry about just then, and she assumed it would go unnoticed since Dumbledore had just made one upstairs. “We’ll be at the twins’ apartment,” she informed the group, though she was primarily speaking to Remus.

Gently, Hermione took Sirius’s limp hand and placed it on the purse beside her own. He’d been silent since the vow, and Hermione wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it. 

“One, two, three,” Hermione breathed, then the uncomfortable sensation of a hook catching along the inside of her midriff snagged her, yanking her right off her feet, and in a blur of shifting colors and lights, they were transported to the upstairs apartment in the twins’ shop in Diagon Alley.

Hermione glanced about, amazed at the effort the twins had gone to to get the place set up for her. She’d asked them to make it as homey as the Gryffindor common room, knowing a pleasant place to be trapped would go a long way in making this transition easier on Sirius. There were overstuffed armchairs arranged before the fireplace, and a sofa with throw blankets, all of which were done up in scarlet and gold. The scent of hot chocolate seemed to permeate the air, wafting about her and making her long for Remus, with his unrepentant addiction to the drink. 

Sirius walked mindlessly to the sofa and sank onto it, almost in a daze. Hermione suspected that the events of the last hour had left him numb. It was quite a shock, and he was struggling to catch up. Silently, Hermione watched him, assessing what he needed most just them. Eventually, she lit a fire in the grate, hoping to chase the slight chill from the room, and sat down beside him.

“Sirius?” she called tentatively, resting her hand on his arm. “Will you talk to me?” she requested. 

He said nothing, but he turned his arm over, and moved to clasp her small hand in his. He held on tightly, using her to tether himself to the world. Hermione was more than happy to act as his anchor, relief poured through her for having pulled off her plan and successfully saved the man beside her.

Silence filled the space for close to twenty minutes. The only sounds, their soft, steady breathing and the crackling pops of the fire blazing in the hearth.

“If I had to die, I would want to go that way -- fighting -- but tonight, when it almost happened…”

“You weren’t ready. No one ever is,” Hermione said gently, watching him carefully. 

“What have I done with my life? Nothing. A fat lot of nothing,” he stated dully, his hand inadvertently gripping hers harder. Ghosts of wasted opportunities danced behind his eyes.

Life and circumstances had not been kind to Sirius, and right now, all he could see was the sum of every way he’d been screwed over. All the unfairness he’d been forced to endure.

“You’ve done so much more than you realize,” Hermione insisted, trying to reach him. To break through the impenetrable shell of regret and self-pity he’d encased himself within.

“Yeah? Like what, because from where I’m sitting, I can’t see anything worthwhile to give my existence meaning,” Sirius grumbled derisively. 

“I’m sure James would disagree. Friendship and loyalty like what the two of you shared is why we exist at all. Those connections are so powerful, so significant -- I can’t even find the words to relate all that they encompass. How they transcend everything. They have such a profound impact on our lives, and who we turn out to be. 

“And Remus, he was so alone. Then he got you back, and it meant everything to him. I know he’d not trade that time for the world. Then there’s Harry. What you’ve done for him --”

“I’ve done nothing for him! That’s the problem!” Sirius interrupted to rant.

“You gave a boy desperately in need of love and a family precisely that, right when he needed it most,” Hermione said calmly, urging him to open his eyes and recognize the truth, rather than all the ways he believed he failed his godson.

“A half dozen letters and a dozen conversations. That’s the sum total I’ve been allowed in his life. Couldn’t have made much of an impact. Besides, he had the Weasleys, he didn’t need that from me,” Sirius said brokenly, the hidden insecurities he had on the issue rising to the surface.

Molly’s accusations hung heavily in the air. She’d been brutal with them last summer, and he was still bleeding from her cutting words.

But Harry had been so deprived of love for so long, that he needed it from as many people as possible. He needed the strength and support of Sirius and the Weasleys. Others too. It would take years to fill the void in him.

“Oh, Sirius, you are so very, very wrong about that,” Hermione said quietly, squeezing his hand to get him to look at her. There was a question lurking in the depths of his eyes, a plea for what she said to be the truth, and for her to convince him of it.

“I wasn’t there when he needed me. I couldn’t be because of all the mistakes I made,” he admitted, explaining why he believed as he did. Sadness filled her at the way he so casually tossed out his failings, acknowledging them freely and openly, despite the way it no doubt pained him to do it.

“Harry knows how much you love him, and he knows how much you’d risk to keep him safe and be there for him. Why else do you think it was you that Voldemort used to lure him out this night?”

“Because he’s a sadistic bastard?” Sirius replied darkly.

“Well, yes, but it was because you are the person Harry cares about most in the entire world,” Hermione admitted, knowing it was the truth. Harry had said as much to her on numerous occasions.

“So what now?” Sirius asked, sighing long and loud. Hermione didn’t know if he believed her, but hopefully in time he would.

“Now? Now you help me behind the scenes, and one day… you’ll walk into Harry’s home and have the life you deserve. You’ll be there to help him raise his kids,” she said, hoping the reminder of what was waiting for him at the end of all this would be enough to see him through.

“Fourteen years. At that point it’ll have been over half of my life spent imprisoned,” Sirius said wanly, barking out a slightly maniacal laugh. “You did warn me.”

“Pardon?” Hermione asked, not following his words.

“A few months back. You told me this was what it would take. You gave me a choice that day. I haven’t forgotten,” he reminded her dryly, a bittersweet smile on his face, as well as a very small touch of gratitude. 

That day came back to her in a rush. So many of his choices had been striped from him. It made her feel a bit better that she’d been in a position to offer him one when it came to this. Even if she could still clearly recall the way he’d broken down at the idea of being imprisoned again in any way, shape, or form. Sirius had a long road ahead of him. But he’d make it through. Hermione would be there to support him. And so would the rest of his friends.

“Do you regret what you chose when I asked?” Hermione asked hesitantly, needing to know he’d not changed his mind, and that she’d done right by not only Harry, but him as well.

“Not today,” Sirius said, smiling, though it didn’t reach his eyes and it lacked the warmth Hermione usually associated with his real smiles. Then he said simply, “Ask me again in six years.”

Dual pops announced the sudden presence of new arrivals. The synchronization of the Apparating individuals declared who the newcomers were before they’d even appeared. Fred and George.

“What happened?” George asked, looking them over.

“Didn’t you hear? I died tonight,” Sirius said, a bit of his usual swagger and brazenness returning as he said it, though Hermione sensed the mocking nature of it only barely hidden, air slowly leaking from a deflating balloon. It could only go undetected for so long.

“You look pretty good for a corpse,” Fred remarked, grinning as he nodded, eyes flicking over Sirius assessingly.

George, always the more sensitive of the two, noted Hermione’s concern for Sirius, and tried to distract him, announcing, “If you’re staying here, then we can get straight to work on the defense line you suggested. I expect we’ll have a pressing need for it soon enough.”

“Business will be booming now that everyone knows Voldemort is back,” Hermione agreed tiredly.

“Say what?” George blinked, glancing about to see if he could spot what he’d clearly missed.

“Blimey, Hermione, way to bury the lead!” Fred added, his jaw hanging open.

“Albus and Harry fought him at the Ministry tonight. Everyone knows the truth now,” Hermione explained, weariness settling about her shoulders like a weighted cloak.

“What’s that mean for all of us?” George asked, not shying away from the reality of the situation. No wonder he was such close friends with Harry. They never backed down or stuck their heads in the sand the way so many in their world had a tendency to do.

“The war has well and truly begun,” Hermione stated simply. There wasn’t much more to say.

“Who’s going to explain what went down tonight?” Fred demanded.

A gentle knock sounded on the door. After a quick glance to confirm he should answer, George moved to let the visitor in.

Hermione had put up wards that only allowed her and the twins to come and go freely. Once Sirius had a chance to wrap his head around things, she planned to adjust them for him, as well as those in the Order that knew about him. 

She didn’t want him to feel like a prisoner, and there were still many things he could do, and places he could go. But he needed time to accept that his immediate future was going to look different, and that Harry couldn’t be a part of it.

The door opened to reveal Remus, and Hermione immediately stood, releasing the grip she’d maintained on Sirius, to allow Remus room to take her place on the sofa. Except he surprised her by ignoring his friend in favor of coming directly to her for once. 

As soon as he was close enough to her, he placed his hand over the scar on her chest, and hoarsely whispered, “I could have lost you before we ever had a chance.”

“I’m fine,” she promised, covering his hand with her own. “Never better, in fact. I’m right here.”

“I had to leave you with him,” he said, shivering as he forced the pained words out.

“Who?” she asked, unable to process the source of his concern.

“At the school… Kingsley and I escorted you and your friends back, and he took you from me,” Remus rasped, ducking his head to press his face against her throat, inhaling deeply and rubbing his stubbly cheek against her tender skin.

“Some of us are still a little lost here,” Fred said mildly, seeking a better explanation than what had been offered so far.

“Voldemort tricked Harry into going to the Ministry tonight,” Hermione explained succinctly.

“Alone?” Fred asked, worried for his friend.

“No. I went with him. Luna and Neville, and… and Ron and Ginny both went too,” Hermione relayed slowly, knowing they would not like hearing about their younger siblings in danger. For all their carefree ways, they were enormously overprotective.

“Are they all right?” George asked quickly. 

At the same time, Fred inquired, “Were they hurt?”

“Yes, but they’ll be fine. Ron is still in the hospital wing, but Ginny is likely already out,” Hermione admitted, clapping her hands to gain their attention when they both made to Disapparate the moment she began speaking. “Boys, go see your parents. They probably haven’t been informed yet about any of this,” she said, knowing Dumbledore was currently busy with Harry, and both Kingsley and Mad-Eye were likely at St. Mungo’s checking on Tonks. The witch hadn’t looked so great when Hermione had left. Arthur may have been informed, given his position within the Ministry, but that wasn’t a guarantee.

She debated telling George, but figured his family needed him more right then. Except, she’d want to be told. Hermione opened her mouth, but both freckled faces blanched, and without another word, they were gone. Guess someone else would have to tell him.

“Padfoot?” Remus said quietly, his warm breath fanning over the skin of her neck and making her shiver at the sensation. He’d not moved an inch since he’d buried it there, save to steadily continue inhaling her unique scent, filling his lungs with it as though he could gorge himself.

“Go on, get out of here, Moony. I know the two of you need to talk, and apparently I’m not going anywhere,” Sirius agreed, false brightness coating his voice.

“Thank you for understanding,” Remus said quietly, his lips brushing her skin. “I’ll be by in the morning.”

“It already is morning, if you didn’t notice, but I’ll expect you this afternoon,” Sirius said with a touch more genuine humor.

She’d have to come back and talk to him about his options as soon as possible. She’d not anticipated that he’d be so rattled by the events, or she’d have talked to him about it earlier while they’d waited for Remus to join them.

Hermione threaded her fingers through Remus’s when she felt him seeking out her hand, then she was being sucked through the end of a straw as he took her with Side-Along Apparation. 

When her eyes opened, it was to see that he’d brought her to a very small cottage. The well-maintained structure was yellow with white shutters and flower boxes on the windows. Ivy grew over the wrought iron fence surrounding the property. Without a word, Remus led her up the porch and inside where she was greeted with floor to ceiling bookcases framing a fireplace. Each shelf was stuffed full of an assortment of books. The entire place smelled strongly of Remus, and Hermione inhaled, welcoming the familiar scent of chocolate and the forest.

“This is your home,” Hermione gasped, articulating her realization as it occurred to her. Six months earlier, he offered this place up for her to reside with him in.

“It was my parents. We never had much,” he said, glancing about furtively, as though taking his surroundings in from an outside perspective.

“It’s perfect,” she said honestly. The place was cozy and bright, welcoming. It felt like a real home, a place you’d want to return to at the end of the day. Certainly much more inviting than her London flat had ever been.

He stared at her, feasting upon the sight of her. She gazed back at him just as hungrily. Finally, after months apart and far too much unsaid, they were together. And safe.

“Would you like me to go first? I’ve kept so many secrets. I can’t imagine what that’s put you through. Remus --”

“Don’t apologize. I wanted -- _want_ \-- you to keep those secrets,” he interrupted, moving to clasp her hands in his, bringing them up to press tightly against his chest.

“Even now? After tonight? Even if it was only for a few minutes, you believed you’d lost your best friend because I didn’t tell you what I had planned. And then there’s the issue of Teddy --”

“Let’s save that last bit for later. First, yes, believing he was gone, and that I’d lost him again after only just getting him back, was hell,” Remus acknowledged frankly, but held a finger to her lips when she went to apologize again. Then he continued, “But… but I’d rather that, than risk your life. I want you to continue keeping what you know secret from me. If I know, things won’t happen the same… you could… I can’t know. It’s as simple as that.”

“Sirius told me you felt that way, but I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. This morning -- well, yesterday morning now -- at Grimmauld Place --”

“That was about a million other things -- all of which I was taking out on you,” he said, wincing at the reminder of his behavior.

“Including the full moon tonight?” she asked, suspecting that had been the primary instigator of his short temper both yesterday, and the month before when they’d fought in her room at the Hog’s Head Inn.

“Yes,” he breathed, averting his eyes in shame.

“Okay,” she said lightly, nodding in acceptance of how things were, and the reasoning behind his actions. 

She’d always known it would be like this. Even when they’d spent those three straight months together his temper had been occasionally unpleasant to be around during the days surrounding the full moon. It did nothing to change her mind about how much she loved him. 

“Okay? That’s it?” he demanded, confusion digging grooves across his face. 

Had he expected her to reject him over it? Probably, that was precisely what he’d anticipated happening. When would he believe in the strength of her love for him?

“Well, we need to discuss the root of the issues, certainly, but I expect I’ll take out my anger on you occasionally too,” she said easily, waving it away.

“How very pragmatic of you, Hermione,” Remus said, studying her with newfound hope. If affirmation was what he required, then that was what he’d get -- for as long as it took to convince him.

“That said, you can’t get mad at me again for keeping secrets if that’s what you’re asking me to do,” she stated firmly, her chin going up a notch as she made her feelings clear on the subject.

“I’ll try,” he promised, bringing her hands up to kiss the back of them. A tender press that spoke volumes. “I’m so lucky to have found you.”

“What happened with the pack?” she asked quietly, believing that was the source of his renewed doubts and self-loathing.

“Do we have to discuss this now?” he asked cautiously, making it clear he’d rather bury the topic than have it out in the open.

“I think we do,” she pressed, knowing talking was the best way to sort through the tangled and complicated emotions involved. A fact she’d do well to remember herself. But that was neither here nor there just then.

“Every member had been turned by Greyback,” Remus said tonelessly. His eyes held a glazed, faraway look that was difficult to interpret.

Absently, Hermione wondered if he’d ever met any other of Greyback’s victims before. She suspected that he hadn’t. Not with the way he’d always studiously avoided others of his kind. At least until Albus made him take on this mission. The ready-made spy.

“That must have dredged up feelings you’d long since worked through,” she said quietly, offering him an opening.

“More like buried,” he muttered, unknowingly echoing her earlier thoughts. “I never worked through them.”

“You still hate what you are,” she acknowledged sadly, heart breaking for the wonderful man standing before her.

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding slightly. “They held a great deal of resentment towards me because I had it much better than they did.”

Hermione couldn’t imagine what the last few months had been like for him. What diatribe he’d been forced to listen to. The angry actions and slandering, barbs thrown his way without any comprehension of the solitary and lonely existence Remus had been made to endure for so many years. It must have done a number on him. No wonder he’d lashed out and reverted back to believing the worst of himself. Such regression was expected given the circumstances.

“Better,” he snorted bitterly. “So much better. Imagine being envious of the life I’ve led. I’m thirty-seven and all I have to offer you is the cabin I inherited from my parents. And you could be Minister one day, but not if you’re associated with someone like me.”

“Remus,” she said sharply, temper finally snapping as it was wont to do when he implied such nonsense. “I don’t need you to bribe me into being with you. I have never, nor will I ever, be overly concerned with material possessions -- a fact you should be quite well aware of by now. I’m not finished!” she screeched when he made to interrupt. 

“Our relationship will not in any way hinder my rise through the Ministry. Do not interrupt me!” she yelled again, pressing a hand to his mouth to block his second attempt to interject. “I dare anyone to try and hold it against me after all I’ve accomplished -- not to mention what Harry would have to say to them if they tried. And in case you failed to notice, I can look after myself -- I am more than capable. Furthermore, your book is a smashing success. I had a letter for you at Grimmauld a few weeks back, and your income now rivals my own.”

“It is?” he asked, stunned. The rest of what she’d said seemed to be slowly seeping in, but the last had been a sledgehammer breaking through the barriers he’d unconsciously erected between them.

“You are not poor. Or old. Or tainted. Or worthless. Or cowardly. Or any of that nonsense you insist on believing about yourself. If you were, I wouldn’t love you so damn much!” she hollered, shooting down his fears one after another without pause.

“Despite my ongoing insecurities?” he asked, seeming more amused than anything as she berated him. Insufferable, infuriating man!

“My love for you is the deepest truth I know. Immovable. Unshakable,” Hermione announced, hurling the words at him. He grinned when she did, and that only made her press her lips together and clench her hands into fists to keep from hitting or hexing him.

The smile faded.

“When I saw you on the floor in the Ministry…”

His tortured expression was an unspoken declaration that his feelings for her perfectly matched all that she’d professed to feeling for him. Hermione gasped when his finger almost unwillingly traced the top of her scar peeking out over the collar of her shirt.

“What did you mean earlier? About him taking me?” Hermione asked suddenly, his words at WWW coming back to her all at once.

“Snape,” he said, grimacing darkly.

“What did he say to you? Sirius told me something was said, but Severus wouldn’t say,” Hermione said, studying his face for clues or any hint at what had gone down between the rivaling men.

“Apart from how I’m not good enough, you mean? Or how I’m risking your life every time you attempt to change the future for my benefit?” Remus asked dully.

“Yes, aside from that since we’ve already addressed how false those assumptions are,” Hermione said emphatically, waving the words away.

“He threatened to tell Voldemort about you. The perfect revenge he called it,” Remus said, swallowing thickly.

Hermione could picture it happening. Sirius or Harry had probably put him in a mood, and seeing Remus had set him off. The final straw. Especially when combined with his own concern for her.

“When?”

“When he told me you’d gone after the giants alone, since I couldn’t be bothered enough to watch your back,” Remus explained. 

So the week before. 

After Harry saw that awful memory. And after she’d confessed that the two of them were still quarreling. With Umbridge at the school, and the strain of being a spy and looking out for Harry since Dumbledore had gone, it all made a twisted sort of sense. Severus always did have a tendency to lash out when stressed, and he certainly was right then -- the Marauders or Harry his preferred targets. 

“You know he didn’t mean it. It was a bluff. He wouldn’t do that,” Hermione tried, anticipating that her defense of the man would not go over well.

It didn’t.

Remus scowled at her, huffing angrily, “I don’t understand how you can trust him so completely. If he ever did… Do you know what would happen to you?”

“He won’t. He only said that to hurt you. Rather immature of him, I’ll admit, but you needn’t worry,” Hermione stated, her conviction apparent. “Albus and I both trust him completely.”

Severus was not going to like their next conversation. Oh, was she ever going to have words with him!

“This is another one of those secrets we decided you’d keep to yourself, isn’t it?” Remus asked, sighing, and releasing his hold on her to scrub a hand over his face.

“Unfortunately.” Hermione winced at the weak reply, but it was all she had to give him.

“If I didn't know he despised Muggle-borns as much as I know he does, I'd suspect he developed tender feelings for you,” Remus said, words carefully neutral as he watched her. He’d said something similar back in February when they were staying in Hogsmeade, introducing the conversation as reluctantly then as he was now.

“That’s absurd!” Hermione gasped, laughing at the preposterous idea just as she had before.

“Is it?” Remus asked gravely, staring at her pointedly. “And before you ask, I know you don’t fancy him. I’m not suggesting that again, nor will I make that mistake again,” he said, referencing their fight from the day before. At least now he believed she only loved him.

Hermione thought back over her time with Severus, and what she knew of his feelings for Lily. No. Severus didn’t think of her like that. She was positive.

“Yes,” she said, certainty ringing through the word as she concluded, “I’m sure he doesn’t.”

Remus nodded his acceptance, but she could see shadows of doubt in the wrinkled creases framing his eyes.

Quiet stillness descended with the conclusion of the topic. Hermione braced herself, sensing Remus was building up to tell her something, and she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what it was.

“Hermione?” Remus finally said, her name a question, imploring her to understand. “I don’t want him.”

She didn’t have to ask who he was referring to. The regret and sadness on his face made it perfectly clear. He was letting her know that he had no intention of having Teddy. Not in this potentially altered timeline. 

“And if I do?” she asked quietly. Her feelings on the topic were a chaotic, tangled jumble that she’d no hope of sorting out on the spot.

“I don’t want to bring any child into this world, but…”

“But?” she asked, hope creeping unwillingly in.

“I’m sorry. I’ve thought a lot about it over the last few months, and this is how I feel. I have many reasons for coming to this decision, reasons I’d rather not get into right now. I hope you can understand,” he said, dashing her rising spirits.

She didn’t understand. Yet at the same time, she unfortunately did.

Sirius’s earlier imploring rang through her head. You have to tell Tonks.

“I know how you feel about me sharing what I know of the future, but this involves Tonks as well,” Hermione said carefully, not wishing to start a fight.

“You wish to tell Nymphadora?” he said simply, not sounding the least bit surprised or even reluctant. 

“Yes,” she admitted, waiting for him to argue or attempt to talk her out of it.

Remus’s expression was unreadable. Hermione waited, holding her breath as they scanned each other’s faces.

“If you think that’s best,” he finally capitulated, thoroughly shocking her. Why had he agreed so readily? It left her footing a bit uneven.

“Then I’ll probably tell her about it sometime this week,” Hermione said, trying to suss him out.

“You might have to wait. She… she collapsed just after you and Sirius had gone. One of the other Aurors that showed up took her to St. Mungo’s,” Remus informed her impassively.

“I’d forgotten…”

“Hermione, I know we probably still have a lot to talk about, but right now I need you,” Remus said, a hungry desperation had entered his eyes. Or maybe it had always been there, but as they spoke, sorting things out, the wall concealing it was disassembled, brick by brick with each word they said.

“Oh! Yes, yes,” she agreed, aching to feel him inside her again after so long apart.

There was nothing soft or gentle about the way his mouth claimed her the instant she acquiesced. It was raw, frenzied. All teeth and tongues and mashed lips.

Hands pawed at her waist, hastily undoing her trousers and shoving them down her legs. Hermione helped as best she could by stepping out of them, but it was clumsy, her fingers too focused on tugging his zip down in turn.

Only one of her feet had come free before he was lifting her up. Automatically, her legs circled his waist, her pants dangling from one ankle as he impaled her on his solid cock.

He nipped at her neck, sucking and licking the tender flesh as she moaned, eager for more. Then he was walking them backwards, pressing her hard against the front door to brace her as he began bucking roughly into her. Wild snaps of his hips, plunging, fast and deep. Her nails claw down his back in response, urging him on.

Pressure built, increasing rapidly, so much so, that she peaked without warning. Her climax sent her soaring over the edge, her head collapsing to Remus’s shoulder. 

He didn’t let up. Pent up emotions drove him on, fueling him to stake a permanent, lasting claim on her. To bury himself so deep inside her they’d be intimately joined forever. Hermione nipped his ear and dug her nails into his heavily muscled back, silently begging for more, wanting all of him as she was swept back up in their wild coupling.

Faster. Impossibly so. He dove into her, withdrawing almost completely on every thrust only to plunge entirely back in, hips smacking together. His arms braced against the door on either side of her as she clung to him, her heels digging into his butt, spurring him on.

Remus came with a shout, dragging her with him into the welcome bliss. Their release, a final plummet of the roller coaster they’d been trapped on the last few days. Months really.

Remus buried his head in her neck and she felt the wet warm moments before his chest shuttered. She held him as he cried, his arms wedging themselves between her back and the door to pull her closer. The dam on his pent up emotions finally bursting in a cathartic release.


	19. 19: The Worst is Yet to Come

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

This chapter will actually contain my whole reason for coming up with this story -- Remus’s behavior at the end of the book. He seemed completely, and utterly unaffected when he greeted Harry at King’s Cross station after having just lost the last of his closest friends. Why else would he be so nonchalant and all right unless Sirius wasn’t truly dead?

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 19: The Worst is Yet to Come

June 1996

Lupin Cabin

It was nearly noon. Neither had slept yet, despite the exhaustion that clung to them from being up for so long, the adrenaline from the battle wearing off, and their emotional reunion including two rounds of makeup sex. Hermione was afraid to close her eyes. Afraid of what she’d see when she did. Afraid of the dreams she’d no doubt have. Nightmares of Dolohov. 

After Remus’s tears had slowed, he’d carried her to bed and proceeded to kiss and touch every inch of her body, inspecting for himself that she truly was alive and would recover from the trials of facing Death Eaters as both a teen and an adult over the span of twenty-four hours. Every one of the numerous scars on her body received special attention, though not a question was asked regarding their origin. 

With every caress, the mist and shadows of fear were burned away, vanishing in the wake of their affirming love. It was cleansing, and she proceeded to treat him to the same once he was finally finished. 

Even now, mere minutes after their last coupling, Hermione felt Remus’s hand drift suggestively over her hip, his fingers trailing down between her legs. They skated up her inner thigh, circling her clit before tracing down the line of her slit to dip inside her opening. It was a teasing touch, playfully arousing. 

She was still deliciously sated from their last bout, but one touch from him, and she was ready to go again, undeniably aroused. It was always that way for her. For him too. 

“I can smell how much you’re enjoying this,” Remus murmured huskily into her ear, sounding torn somewhere between amused and smug over the reaction he’d elicited from her.

The full moon was in a few hours, and he seemed to be feeling the effects more than ever before. While he was always more randy around the full moon, he couldn’t seem to get enough of her since the close call, and she was suffering from the same problem, if to a slightly lesser extent. He was eager and sensual in a way that was incredibly overwhelming in the best way possible. She was drowning in him. In him and his dominant, primitive tendencies.

For as much as he bemoaned being a werewolf, it had its advantages when it came to his heightened senses and desires in the bedroom. Not that she’d say as much to Remus. He’d be self-conscious about it. But Hermione thoroughly enjoyed reaping the benefits.

Hermione turned her head to see him, and hummed her agreement, “Hmm.”

He brought his hand to his mouth to taste her, wrapping his tongue sensually around his fingers as he watched her. His eyes noticeably darkened, the pupils dilating and swallowing the crystalline, glacial blue. Seeing his reaction to her desire for him made her throat go dry.

Would being with him ever get old? Hermione sincerely doubted it. Not when every encounter brought her more pleasure than she’d ever known with another. 

The feel of his hardness burnt a line in her skin where he was nestled tightly against the cleft of her cheeks. Hermione pressed back, grinding her hips provocatively against him. Silently screaming her desire for another go with him.

“Want you,” Remus groaned, burying his face in her neck and trailing hot, open mouthed kisses along the exposed column.

“Mmm-hmm,” she moaned her ascent, caught up in the feel of his fingers once more playing at her entrance, coaxing a willing response from her pliant body. She was an instrument and he a musician generating a masterpiece symphony of notes that ebbed and flowed, crashing down around them as it evoked a primal response.

Remus shifted their positions, pulling her up onto her hands and knees as he settled in behind her. In one long thrust, he was seated completely inside her. She whimpered as he pulled almost all the way out before reentering her fully.

“Yes!” Hermione cried, encouraging him to continue. To take her, possess her. 

Remus set a steady pace, her hips rocking back instinctively to meet him. Every slide of skin on skin summoned pleasure. It spiraled out from the place where they were joined, filling her to overflowing with mind-numbing ecstasy.

“You’re mine,” Remus said, pressing the words into her back when he bent over her to lock and arm around her waist, his hand boldly cupping her breast and teasing the budded peak of her nipple. For all that the words were an antiquated notion, they contained a raw vulnerability. A request for reassurance that she wasn’t going anywhere -- through means of desertion or death.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, gasping as she met his eager thrusts.

The hand fondling her breast slid lower, down to cup the apex of her thighs, a finger circling her bud deliberately. In no time, Hermione felt the first fluttering stirrings of her climax. It washed over her, a cleansing rain after a violent storm, soft and renewing, and vastly different from the frenzied highs of the past few hours. It was a culmination of their love and promises to one another.

Remus gripped her hips tighter when her arms gave out beneath her, holding her in place as he drove forward a final time to release in shuttering jerks that filled her with warmth.

Together, they collapsed to the bed where he tucked her back against his chest and ran his fingers through her wild hair.

“We spoke of my… recent issues, but not of yours,” Remus said softly, brushing a kiss over her temple. They had, though both new there was more to be said on the various subjects. But that could wait, the worst, at least, was covered. “Is there anything we can safely discuss?”

“Like what?” Hermione asked drowsily.

“Like how you nearly died. Is Dolohov the source of your nightmares?” Remus asked, his grip on her tightening briefly, clutching her closer in reflex to the thought of potentially losing her.

“Some of them,” Hermione admitted. She rolled over and buried her face in his chest, tracing circles on his stomach and inhaling the soothing scent of chocolate and sandalwood. Reluctantly she added, “Not all.”

Hermione didn’t know how to tell him that Bellatrix was the star of most of them, followed closely by Greyback. Knowledge of the latter was bound to hit a sore spot.

“Because the worst is yet to come,” he said wearily, holding her close and kissing her temple again.

“Yes,” Hermione breathed, squeezing her eyes shut.

The knowledge of all that was about to take place felt unsettlingly like worms crawling beneath her skin, wriggling about. The sensation left her restless and unclean. Death and torment and misery. So much of each that she grew nauseous just contemplating it.

She really hated fighting. If only every dispute could be settled through negotiation and educated, fair compromises.

“You went after the giants on your own,” he added, bringing up another point that hadn’t sat well with him. They both had a tendency to clam up, relying on only themselves to get through sticky situations, so it was good that they were talking now.

“We’re spread too thin. There was no one else,” she said defensively, attempting to justify her decision. “None that know of me, at least.”

“You could have asked one of the twins,” he argued, disagreeing with both her methods and her actions.

“I didn’t think of them… And if I had… what with their shop and how young they are, I probably wouldn’t have risked taking them along,” Hermione admitted, pushing herself to be honest with him regarding her reasons. She felt so protective of Fred. She didn’t want to take him away from doing what he loved anymore than necessary.

“They’re in the Order now. You have to treat them as such -- no matter how difficult it is,” Remus reminded her gently. 

His ability to make difficult decisions and utilize his resources was part of why he’d been one of the people to take over after Dumbledore’s death. It was part of why he supported Harry, Ron and her skipping their seventh year to carry out Dumbledore’s orders. That, and the fact Severus was running the school with Death Eaters, which was the equivalent of a death wish for each of them, hunted as they’d been.

Hermione confessed part of the plan she’d been working on in her downtime recently. “I was thinking about trying to store up our relationship with the goblins next, and maybe...”

“I think that’s a great idea. Bill would be an asset, and probably your best option for anyone else finding out about you,” Remus said, following along where she’d trailed off. It would be dangerous letting more people know she was alive, but Bill was very discrete and reliable.

The fact that Remus knew what she was thinking and the direction her mind had gone made her smile. That was how things had been for them in the past. Proof that they were back on track.

“I have to move Sirius’s belongings to him before the moon tonight,” Remus said ruefully. It was already going on one now. 

Luckily, he’d been able to take the Wolfsbane Potion last night. Hermione still made a batch every month on the off chance he’d be able to take it. She didn’t want him spending the night biting and scratching himself because he had no other outlet. It was bad enough that he still had to experience the agony of shifting every twenty-eight days. Lately, he’d been with the packs, so they’d taken their aggression out on each other during the moon. Hermione had noted a number of new scars decorating Remus’s body as a result.

“You should spend the afternoon with him,” Hermione suggested. The look on Sirius’s face when he’d been told he couldn’t see Harry again for years hovered in her mind. He needed his friend right now.

Hermione watched Remus rise from the bed, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better view. Every inch of Remus’s body was toned perfection. A marble statue set to rival the best of what Michelangelo could sculpt. 

Honestly, Hermione wasn’t sure she could get out of bed if she tried. The last few days had drained her physically, and the morning hours of her emotional reunion with Remus had taken a toll as well. Hopefully, she’d be able to sleep for the next twelve straight hours. With the aid of a Dreamless Sleep tonic. Otherwise the nightmares would descend and she’d be even worse off than she started.

“I can gather your things and bring them here in the morning while I’m at it,” Remus offered casually, downplaying his second request for her to move into his home.

“I’d appreciate it,” Hermione said, grinning at him. His answering smile was nearly blinding. Silently, she added, _Well played, Remus_. 

“I’ll probably spend the night with Padfoot then since I had the potion,” Remus said, mulling the idea over. It’d be safe, so there was no reason not to. And Sirius could use the trip down memory lane. There were some days that Sirius did better living in the past than he did stewing on the future.

“He’d like that,” Hermione agreed lightly, eagerly accepting his farewell kiss.

~

Students had just begun their journey home for Summer Hols when Albus arrived at the cabin Hermione had recently moved into. Remus had joined Moody, Tonks, and the Weasleys at King’s Cross station to be there when Harry arrived. A show of support, and a warning to his aunt and uncle.

“I was called to Diagon Alley this morning,” Albus announced without preamble, foregoing the usual sort of greeting.

“Oh?” Hermione inquired. The word liberally coated in mock innocence.

“You saved him,” Albus said quietly, almost wonderingly.

Truthfully, Hermione had expected this visit long before now. She could hardly believe Moody hadn’t ratted her out that very first night. Instead, she’d managed to keep the truth from Dumbledore for no less than five days.

“How angry are you with me?” Hermione asked, biting her lip as she awaited the much anticipated lecture. She’d been bracing herself for it for months. Ever since she made the decision to intercede and save the man. It wasn’t like she didn’t deserve whatever he decided to hurl her way and heap atop her.

It was a long while before Albus spoke. And when he finally did, his words thoroughly shocked her. “A man that has been dreadfully wronged for a third of his life is alive today thanks to your actions. I could not be angry with you for that.”

“But you are worried,” Hermione insisted, needing to know that it wasn’t she alone terrified about the potential consequences of her actions.

“Are you not concerned?” Albus asked, turning the question around on her.

“I made him make an Unbreakable Vow,” she admitted, wanting him to know she’d taken the necessary precautions.

“He informed me this morning, just now,” Albus said.

“You were with him? How was he?” Hermione asked eagerly. She’d not seen him herself. 

After the full moon, she and Remus had taken advantage of the last few peaceful days they had before their world fell apart to simply be together. They’d unpacked her things, spent some time gardening -- it was much more efficient to simply grow some of their own potion ingredients -- and to convert the basement into a Potion Room for Hermione. In the evenings, he’d also taken to reading her excerpts from the next book he was planning to have published as they sat, curled up before the fireplace.

“As well as can be expected under the circumstances. It will take time for him to adjust. He reached out to me because of his mirror,” Albus explained, sadness and regret adding wrinkles to his ancient visage.

“I-I didn’t think of that,” Hermione gasped, her mouth falling open. 

She’d never known Harry did that. She’d been shut up in the hospital wing right up until the train left, and when Harry had been about, she’d been trying to put on an air of boredom to mask the severity of her injuries. He had enough guilt over Sirius. Hermione had been unwilling to make it worse.

“Harry tried to contact him with it. Sirius felt keeping it would prove too much temptation.” Albus sighed, removing his spectacles ostensibly to clean them, but Hermione saw the glittering sheen filming his eyes. 

He must hate lying to Harry as much as she did. And keeping the one person Harry most longed for from the teen. But it was necessary. And Albus was nothing if not practical. For the greater good. Anything for the greater good.

Hermione remembered all the times Harry had stared at his remaining shard of mirror obsessively while they’d been on the run. There was no way Sirius would have been able to ignore Harry then if he’d still had the mirror. She’d have to make sure it eventually found its way into Aberforth’s hands sometime in the next year.

“That was smart of him,” Hermione remarked, realizing Dumbledore had returned to studying her.

“A precaution I doubt he would have been willing to take even a week ago,” Albus acknowledged, nodding a bit. 

The kind smile he offered seemed to have the intended effect. Hermione felt herself finally relaxing. Dumbledore seemed as confident as she that Hermione had really pulled off a miracle. Sirius was alive, and planned on remaining that way. He was through with taking foolish chances just for the thrill of it or because he was bored and antsy.

“Where is Remus this afternoon?” Albus asked. “I expected to find him here with you. No one has heard from either of you in days.”

“King’s Cross. He decided this morning that he wanted to be there to support Harry when the Dursley’s picked him up,” Hermione relayed, conjuring up a spot of tea now that they’d relaxed enough to enjoy some. She wasn’t really used to playing hostess, and fortunately for her, Dumbledore hadn’t been rude enough to comment on her lack of manners.

“Can he maintain the illusion that he has just lost his dearest friend?” Albus asked, accepting the cup Hermione held out for him.

“Harry won’t suspect that anything is amiss, if that’s what you are worried about,” Hermione promised, thinking back over the encounter at the train station. It seemed odd now that Remus had already appeared so well adjusted after his recent loss. Especially when compared to Harry’s numb facade. But none of them had batted an eye over it. Tonks and Mad-Eye too had been fine.

“Good. Good,” Albus breathed, sipping his tea. It was a rather strong Earl Grey that Hermione favored, but one that Remus could only tolerate with twice his usual amount of sugar to offset the potent bitter taste.

“Things are about to get really bad, Albus,” Hermione said, pulling back the curtain to reveal the truth that they’d been tiptoeing about since he arrived.

“You mentioned before that you believe you were always here,” Albus said carefully.

“Yes. There are so many little things that I’ve done already, all of which have led to events I remember happening,” Hermione said, feeling her brow wrinkle as she thought back over all the little hints and signs. Conversations with Kreacher, freeing Grawp, helping in the Ministry during the fight -- to name a few.

“The Bones family,” Albus said clearly, referencing what she’d said the week before.

“Madam Bones was killed in the evening just over a week after summer term began. Next Thursday night,” Hermione said, setting her empty cup down. “The day after the brochures were released from the Ministry with all the new security measures that people needed to begin taking.”

“I had intended on meeting with Harper, your schoolmate Susan’s father. Perhaps his wife and daughter should come as well,” Albus mused. “He’d probably be less concerned to have them with me than to leave them unprotected.”

“You know Amelia Bones is going to die, and you don’t plan to do anything?” Hermione demanded, understanding the significance of what he was saying.

“I have been friends with Amelia for many, many years,” Albus began, pining Hermione with a quelling look. He did not appreciate having his motives questioned, and it wasn’t often he was willing to explain himself. “Her youngest brother, sister-in-law, and two of her young nieces died during the First Wizarding War. Hunted down and murdered by Death Eaters. Amelia is a very prominent and well-respected member of our society. 

“Sometimes sacrifices must be made to achieve our ultimate goals. She understands the costs of war, and knowing her last surviving brother and his family were spared would be an acceptable trade if it helped people see that they must stand against Voldemort. Her loss will motivate people.”

“A pawn in a game of chess,” Hermione stated quietly, not liking his plan, but unable to refute his logic.

“A bishop more like,” Albus countered, not denying her assessment of the situation.

“Sometimes I fear your teenaged ideals still have too strong a guiding hand in your decisions,” Hermione murmured bravely.

“I’d like to believe my motivations have become more selfless than they were then,” Albus said, swallowing thickly and scanning her face. Was he seeking absolution? From her? It was not her place to provide it. 

“I’m not sure I can handle watching so many die without at least trying to stop it,” Hermione admitted. There were so many others that deserved a second chance every bit as much as Sirius did. They’d done nothing wrong. If anything, they were doing the right thing by standing against Voldemort. Or they were merely collateral damage. Caught in the crossfire of a war they wanted no part in.

“You saved Sirius,” he reminded her.

“It’s something,” she breathed, sighing heavily. “Something.”

“Anything is better than nothing, my dear,” Albus said gently, reaching over to pat her hand. “And by all means, try to save whomever you can, but I fear you’ll have little luck changing much that you remember. Now, I really must be going. There are many demands on my time these days.”

“Ah, to be popular once again,” Hermione teased, standing when Albus made to leave. “Could you please let Severus know I’d like to speak to him?” she asked, taking advantage of the fact he’d see the man shortly. He’d not come by to see her, and it wasn’t as though she could seek him out at Hogwarts. And they had much to discuss.

“I shall pass your request on,” Albus promised.

As Hermione watched him go, she braced herself for the coming days. Months. Years. They would probably be even more challenging this time around. 

At least this time she had Remus. The hardships were worth it. So long as she had him by her side, she could handle anything. Because he was worth it. And Hermione intended to cherish every moment she had with him, for however long she could.

~

Final Author’s Note

Thank you everyone that stuck with this and read the entire story. This is my favorite non-canon pairing, so I hope I was able to do it justice. The second story in this trilogy will be called _Anything_ , and the first chapter will be posted soon -- within the week. The third installment will be called _Everything_. I hope you will enjoy continuing on this journey with me. Take care, and please let me know what you think!

Also, I don’t normally beg for reviews, but I stayed up most of last night to finish this, and the next chapter in each of my other fics since today is my birthday (my present to anyone reading). If you feel up to taking a moment to let me know what you think, I’d consider it the greatest birthday present ever! Thanks :)


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